


For Better and For Worse

by Herenya_writes



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Away Mission Gone Wrong, Domestic Fluff, Domestic arguments, Hurt/Comfort, Jim feels guilty, M/M, Married Spirk, Mind-Melds, Space Husbands, Telepathy, Torture, and just wants to protect everyone, but I swear it's a happy ending, he just wants to snuggle with his husband, is that too much to ask?, seriously, the entire crew is very self-sacrificing, there's gonna be a lot of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24631570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herenya_writes/pseuds/Herenya_writes
Summary: Jim and Spock wrote their own vows, and they each promised to protect the other, and when they could not do that, to comfort them. For better or for worse, they belong at each other's side to defend and to heal. Jim just wishes he could always do the first so that the second is never necessary.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 96
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be a pretty short story—I'm thinking five or six chapters. I know the summary sucks, and I'm sorry. Basically, our boys are gonna be in some pain, but they'll fix it in the end.

It had been a long day. Between the three— _ three _ —video conferences and the mix-up down in engineering, Jim was more than ready to collapse into bed, curl up next to his husband, and sleep until his alarm went off for alpha shift tomorrow. Unfortunately, his day wasn't over yet. When he had been in the academy, people had warned him that being the captain of a starship meant filling out never-ending mountains of paperwork, but he hadn't truly believed them. Now, however, he understood. There were at least four different reports he had to reread and approve tonight, and he still hadn't looked over those requests Sulu had made. And there was that whole fiasco with Ambassador Shuul from a few days ago that he still hadn't written a proper apology letter for.

Stars, he'd almost rather get in a firefight with a Klingon bird of prey.

Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and put a little more force into his steps as he strode down the hall to his quarters. If he could stare down Klingons, Romulans, and space Apollos, he could do some paperwork. 

When the door hissed open, the interior of his quarters was dim. Despite the lack of light, however, Jim could still make out the tell-tale shape of his husband laying curled on his side of the bed. Spock wasn't asleep yet—he never seemed to be asleep when Jim returned, no matter how late—but the fact that he wasn't meditating meant he was ready to. 

"I've got paperwork to do tonight," Jim said quietly as he stepped into the room and pulled off his command shirt and took off his boots, placing them neatly by the door next to Spock's. "I can move to your quarters if the light's going to bother you." Although they had shared Jim's quarters since their bonding and marriage ceremonies a little over six months ago, there hadn't been any need to clear out Spock's old quarters, so they tended to use it as an office whenever one of them was sleeping and the other working. 

"I do not mind the light, ashayam." Spock's voice drifted from the bed, and although the Vulcan didn't move or say anything else, he knew that Spock wanted him to join him on the bed. 

Jim smiled softly in the darkness. "Alright. Let me get changed and then I'll come to bed. Fair warning though, I think this is going to take me at least an hour or two." Spock didn't reply, but Jim hadn't truly expected him to. A few minutes later, Jim crawled under the covers of their bed, now wearing flannel pajama bottoms. He had forgone his shirt in the slightly-elevated temperature of the room. 

Almost the instant he was settled, Spock moved until he was nuzzling into Jim's side, one arm looped lazily around Jim's waist. When they had first started sleeping together, Jim had been pleasantly surprised at how tactile the Vulcan was. He had always been a kind of octopus in bed—cuddling partners and pillows alike—and the feeling of the Vulcan's cooler skin against his was something he would never get enough of. 

"I love you, too," he whispered, leaning down so that his breath ghosted across the tip of Spock's ear. Then, he reached over to the bedside table and grabbed the PADD that rested there, powering it on and quickly turning down the brightness as low as it would go. Spock might say that the light didn't bother him, but Jim knew better.

Sighing, he opened the folder where all of his yet-to-be-completed paperwork was stored, only to find it empty. Frowning, he closed the folder and opened the log. He wasn't exactly surprised at what he saw, but he couldn't help the flash of irritation that sparked through him. Spock had done all of his paperwork hours ago. Again.

He set the PADD back on the table and shifted so that Spock had to sit up. The Vulcan raised an eyebrow at him, but the innocent expression didn't fool Jim. His husband had a habit of cleaning up his messes, and while he appreciated the lengths that Spock was willing to go for him, he didn't need to be coddled.

"I was going to do the paperwork, Spock. It wasn't even late."

"I am aware." Spock had put some distance between their bodies now, and Jim was torn between wanting to pull his husband close once more and wanting to enforce the ago between them.

"You can't keep doing my job for me," he finally said with another sigh, sinking back against the cushions. "I'm the captain, and filling out and approving the reports is just as much a part of my job as negotiating treaties and implementing battle strategies is. I can't let you just take over the paperwork because I don't enjoy it. It's my job." That didn't really explain why he was so upset about this, but he knew Spock would understand the meaning of his words, even if they weren't quite right.

"As your First Officer and husband, it is my duty to do all I can to ensure that your captaincy is a smooth one," Spock's deep voice replied. Jim kept his gaze trained on the wall across from their bed, but he could see the small frown on Spock's face out of the corner of his eye. "You have been busy as of late, ashayam, and you deserve to rest."

"And what about you? How many other things did you have on your schedule before you tackled my paperwork as well? Vulcans may not need as much rest as humans, but I don't want you running yourself into the ground because you think I can't handle some paperwork."

"Jim, it was not my intention to imply—"

Jim rolled over, his back now to his husband. He knew it was petty of him, but he was tired and he was upset, and if he looked in Spock's eyes he knew he'd melt into his husband's arms, which was something he wasn't ready to do. Not yet.

"Good night, Spock."

There was silence for a long moment, and then Jim felt the bond in his mind that linked his soul to his husband's grow warm with a quiet apology. Despite himself, he relaxed slightly at the feeling of Spock's mind washing over his own, but he didn't turn. "Good night, Jim." 

. . .

When Jim woke up, Spock was already gone. A glance at the chronometer told him that it was still an hour and a half before their shift started, but he knew Spock was likely in the labs overseeing some project or another regardless. He wished Spock hadn't felt the need to put distance between them, but he had meant what he said the night before. He wanted, he needed, to do his job as the captain without Spock constantly picking up after him. 

Shaking his head, he sent a pulse of affection over their bond. It wasn't quite an apology, but he hoped it was enough for Spock to know that he wasn't truly mad at him. There was no response, but he allowed himself to push their argument from his mind. He had work to do today, and he couldn't let a disagreement between him and his husband distract him. 

Half an hour later, he had showered and dressed. He still had about an hour before his shift started, so he decided to stop by the mess hall and see if Bones was awake yet. He hadn't had the chance to talk to his friend much for the past week with everything that had happened, and he missed him. The thought of the country doctor's early-morning griping was enough to put the bounce back in his step as he made his way through the corridors, greeting crew members as they passed. Maybe today could be a good day after all.

. . .

Spock felt it when Jim woke, and he felt the gentle affection that his husband sent over their bond not a minute later. He considered responding, but it was likely that Jim did not have the time for another discussion, and so he turned his attention back to the plant in front of him instead.

It was a hybrid of two species of flower from two planets with radically different climates. One was a plant similar to a cactus that grew in the deserts of Avol III, the other a flowering vine that made its home in the rainforests found along the equator of Graidos. The hybrid was fascinating in that it seemed to be able to adapt to the moisture available in its surroundings with remarkable ease. It had thus far survived both desert and rainforest-like conditions and was now being tested under a more temperate stimulus. If it survived here as well, he and the other scientists working on the project would be able to begin cross-breeding it with more nutritious plants. A food-bearing plant that could survive any amount of rain or lack thereof would be exceedingly beneficial to colonization efforts.

With that in mind, Spock allowed the memory of his earlier argument with Jim to fade to the background as he turned his full attention to the specimen in front of him.

. . .

Jim found Bones in the mess hall eating from a bowl of oatmeal and scowling at crew members who passed too close. The doctor was not, by any stretch of the definition, a morning person. After replicating a piece of toast with jam for himself and a glass of chocolate whole milk—a guilty pleasure of his that had carried over from his childhood—Jim sat down across from his friend and shot him a smile. 

"Morning, Bones. How's the coffee?"

Bones grumbled something under his breath that Jim knew for certain was not a compliment before looking up from his meal and rolling his eyes. "I swear, I've had better coffee at an abandoned gas station. Five years with this swill is going to drive me mad, Jim."

Jim's smile widened. "Well, you've already got three and a half years down. I'm sure you can survive for a little while longer."

"Until you and that hobgoblin drag me into space again," Bones muttered, taking a long sip of his coffee. He grimaced as he set the mug down and then glanced around the room. "Speaking of, where is he?"

"In the labs," Jim answered immediately. 

"Before breakfast? That damned Vulcan is a workaholic. Does he ever sleep? Never mind, I don't actually want to know the answer to that."

"There's an experiment he's been doing on some flower down there for the past few days," Jim explained through a mouthful of toast. He took a sip of the chocolate milk to wash it down before continuing, "He's been spending most of his time when he's not on the bridge in the labs. At least, when he's not doing my job for me." His hand froze halfway to his mouth. He hadn't meant for that last part to slip out, and he definitely hadn't meant for it to sound as bitter as it had. He quickly shoved another bite in his mouth as a distraction, but it was too late.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bones asked, leaning forward slightly to study Jim. "Are you two fighting? Can you even do that with that bonding mumbo-jumbo?"

Jim swallowed regretfully. Part of him wanted to stand up and pretend that he hadn't said anything, but Bones was persistent, and as much as his friend claimed he didn't want to know about his and Spock's personal lives, if he thought there was something wrong, he wouldn't stop digging until he knew for certain, and this was not a discussion Jim wanted to have on the bridge.

"It's not like the bond enslaves us to each other or makes it to where we can never disagree," he stated. "It just means that arguments tend not to last as quickly because there is a much lower chance of miscommunication."

"So you are fighting?"

Jim picked up his chocolate milk and swirled it in his glass for a moment. "We aren't fighting, not really. Spock did all of my paperwork for the week last night without telling me, and I had already planned to do it. It was just taking me a little bit longer than usual. I'm still upset with him, and he's giving me space."

"Let me get this straight," Bones said, pointing at Jim with a spoonful of oatmeal. "The hobgoblin did your paperwork—which you hate doing almost as much as you hate getting your physicals, which are next week, by the way—as a surprise, and instead of thanking him, you got mad?"

What little tension was left in Jim's shoulders fled. "It sounds horrible when you say it out loud. I just don't like Spock thinking he has to constantly pick up after me. He's so brilliant and capable, and I love that about him, but sometimes it's like he doesn't think I can do my job."

Bones sighed, replacing his spoon in his bowl. "Listen, I know you have some issues with your self-esteem, Jim, and I know they sure as hell didn't just disappear because you got married. But I honestly think Spock was just tryin' to do something nice for ya. You both work yourselves too hard, and I know there's been more than one occasion when you've helped Spock out with his work when ya didn't need to. It's a give and take."

Jim shook his head with a chuckle. "You're divorced, Bones. How do you manage to give such good advice?"

"This is all the stuff I learned after my marriage went to pot," he replied with a grumble, but Jim could hear the laughter behind his words. "Now let me eat my oatmeal in peace."

Jim laughed and drained the rest of his milk before standing and tossing the remains of his meal in the recycler and heading for the bridge. If he had more time, he'd stop by to see Spock and apologize, but that could wait until after their shift was through. They had established in the very beginning that their duty to the Enterprise and her crew came first, then their relationship. In all honesty, Jim couldn't say that there wouldn't one day come a time when he would put Spock first, but for now, he was the captain of the USS Enterprise, and he put his ship first.

. . .

Spock wasn't on the bridge. He had sent a lieutenant up to replace him, and the woman had informed Jim that Spock wanted to spend his shift in the labs overseeing the experiment being performed there. His husband's absence didn't truly surprise Jim, but he sent another warm trickle of love across their bond regardless. He didn't want Spock to think he was ignoring him because of last night. After a moment, he felt an answering wave of affection and allowed himself to settle into his command chair and focus on the mission ahead of them.

For the next three days, they were set to travel to the Unn system to watch the star there die and record their findings. They would arrive a few days before the actual even going at the pace they were, which would give the science department more time to study the build up to the star's death. Not much to do, command-wise, but Jim kept an eye out anyway as he watched his crew at their stations.

Halfway through alpha shift, Uhura turned toward him, a frown pulling at her lips. "Captain, I'm picking up what seems to be an old distress signal coming from one of the planets in the nearby Syllor system."

In an instant, Jim was on alert. "Is there a message?"

"No, Captain. It's just a distress frequency being broadcasted on loop. It's an older frequency, though, and it hasn't been used by starships for at least a decade."

Jim frowned. They had time to investigate... "Mr. Chekov, set a course for the Syllor system."

"Aye, Keptin. Arrival in tventy-tree minutes," the Russian navigator said, punching in the new coordinates as he spoke. 

"Once we're in range, Lieutenant Cho, I want you to scan the planet for life signs, specifically any that are humanoid," he ordered the woman who had taken her place at what was typically Spock's station. 

"Understood, Captain."

"Lieutenant Uhura, can you give me any more information about this distress signal?"

The woman tilted her head, listening intently to her earpiece before saying, "Assuming the signal is from a craft that would originally use it, it's likely a passenger freighter or cargo ship. There are a few from that time that are still running, although they should all be using the new frequencies by now."

Jim nodded to himself. "Alright. Keep an ear out and let me know if there are any deviations in the broadcast. Lieutenant Cho, what do we know about the Syllor system, and why would any transport or passenger ships be in the area?"

The woman turned from her station to face Jim, hands behind her back in the perfect picture of an officer on duty. Spock had rubbed off on the science department. "The Syllor system has only one Class M planet, Alpha Syllor," she stated, her accented voice clear and calm. "The planet does not have any developed lifeforms, but it was targeted several years ago as a contender for a Federation grant that would allow scientists to study the plant life there, which is abundant. The grant fell through, and the planet has not received any other attention since. If there are people there, sir, I doubt they intended to be."

"Thank you." Jim leaned back in his seat. If a transporter had crashed on the planet, it was likely that the Enterprise was the first and last ship that would be in the area for some time. "Lieutenant Uhura, inform Starfleet that we are investigating a potential distress signal Alpha Syllor but do not anticipate to be delayed long enough to disrupt our mission."

"Yes, Captian."

. . .

Twenty minutes later, the Enterprise was in orbit around Alpha Syllor. Lieutenant Cho had detected life forms, but the signal had vanished a few moments later and remained spotty, and Jim decided to beam a landing party down. Now, he was standing in the transporter room with Sulu, a young scientist named Samantha Rowe, Phillips and Gomez from security, and Spock.

"Remember, this is a rescue mission first, and a scientific exploration second. We're going to beam down and investigate the signal, and if it's safe, we'll spend an hour or so planetside so that we can take some scans of the plant life. Understood?" 

A chorus of 'yes, sir's met his words, and he stepped onto the pad. "Energize," he commanded, and a moment later, the party was on the planet's surface, standing in a field of grass that reached his knees.

"Alright, Phillips and Spock with me. The signal is coming from half a kilometer that way," he said, pointing east. Sulu, Rowe, and Gomez, stay here until we give you the all clear." The team nodded, and Jim started to head toward the place where the signal was originating from. 

As he walked, Spock fell in step beside him, and although they didn't speak, Jim felt stronger with the Vulcan at his side. After a moment of deliberation, he stepped closer and allowed his fingers to brush over his husband's for an instant. It wasn't a true ozh'esta, but he knew Spock would understand the sentiment. Sure enough, he felt a brief flash of comfort and support burst in his mind before he drew away, although the Vulcan's face remained as impassive as ever.

Soon enough, they reached the crash site of an old cargo ship, the  _ Sylvia _ . They drew their phasers before carefully scrambling down the side of the crater to the ship. The crash site looked old, but Jim kept his phaser in front of him just in case as Phillips pulled open the door on the side of the small ship. 

"All clear, Captain," she shouted from inside, and he and Spock stepped forward.

The ship was empty. The control panel still flickered, and he could see the communication board flashing. "Well, we found the source of the transmission, but I don't think there's anyone left to rescue. Mr. Spock?"

"I do not believe anyone has been in this vessel for some time, Captain. However, there are no bodies here, which means that the crew either escaped the craft before impact or survived the crash and left the ship behind. I suggest scanning the planet for life signs once more as well as researching the crew of the  _ Syliva _ ."

Jim nodded. "Sounds good. Let's regroup with Sulu and the others. It seems safe to allow them to take their scans while we return to the Enterprise and figure out what happened to this crew. Phillips, you go on ahead. Mr. Spock and I will catch up with you in a minute."

The woman glanced between them before nodding and climbing back out of the ship. Once Jim was sure she was out of earshot, he holstered his phaser and stepped up to his husband who was looking at him with one eyebrow raised. 

"Do you require something, Jim?"

"I just want you to listen for a moment," Jim responded, taking one of Spock's hands in his own and opening his mind so that his husband could feel his sincerity. "I apologize for the way I reacted last night. I know you were just trying to help, and I'm grateful for that. Sometimes I can't believe that you chose to marry someone as flawed as me, though, and I worry that I'm not doing enough. You're so perfect, Spock, and I want to—"

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw a figure in the shadowed entrance of the ship and reacted on instinct, shoving Spock to the ground and jumping forward as a streak of light arched toward him. He heard Spock yell his name, but then the light impacted with his side and he fell to his knees as his ribcage erupted into pain. He barely had time to think that whatever he had been hit with hadn't been a normal phaser when something hit the back of his skull and his world went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is the beginning of the torture, but I don't think it's overly graphic.

Jim woke to the feeling of cold stone under his cheek and pain in his side. He opened his eyes slowly and found himself in a dim room, barely four feet across and twice that deep. He blinked and sat up slowly, his eyes scanning the room. From what he could tell, three of the four walls were made of some kind of metal bar with two or so inches of space between them. To his left, he could make out a number of shapes on the ground in the cell next to his, and to his right, he saw his husband.

Spock was sitting with his legs crossed and eyes closed, likely in meditation. But even through the dim light, Jim could see places where the man's uniform was torn and stained green with his blood. Whatever had happened, Spock had not let their captors take him without a fight. As if he could feel Jim's eyes on him, Spock opened his eyes and turned to Jim.

"Do not aggravate your wound unnecessarily, Captain," he warned in a quiet voice. "These weapons seem to inhibit muscular abilities as well as cause intense pain, and I do not know the long-term effects they might cause."

Jim nodded his understanding but crawled over to the bars anyway, reaching two of his fingers through. Spock met him instantly, and Jim closed his eyes at the affection and comfort that washed over him through the touch. Then, Spock drew away and it was back to business.

"Do you know who stuck us in here?" Jim asked, leaning against the bars.

"From what I could see, they appear to be humans," Spock replied, also settling against the bars. "However, they bore no insignia that I could distinguish, but I am certain they are not members of the crew of the  _ Sylvia _ ."

"Do you think they're responsible for the life-signs that kept flickering in and out on Lieutenant Cho's scans?" 

"It is possible. I believe we are currently underground, and it is likely that the composition of the stone around us interferes with the Enterprise's scanners."

"So it's going to be a while before the crew finds us."

"Unfortunately."

Jim let out a frustrated huff. They had been doing pretty well the last few weeks in terms of not being kidnapped, and now they had broken the streak. He trusted his crew to find them, but if what Spock said about the rocks was true—and it likely was; Spock was rarely wrong, even in his guesses—it would take time, and he wasn't keen on spending any longer in this cell than he had to.

As he was musing about possible escape routes, a sound to his left drew his attention. A low groan. He glanced over at Spock, who gave a minuscule nod, and then crawled across the small cell to the other wall. One of the shapes that had been hidden in shadow was sitting up now. Sulu.

"Sulu, are you alright?" Jim asked, keeping his voice low. He didn't know where his captors were or if they could hear him, but it seemed safer to keep quiet.

The helmsman seemed to blink a few times before turning toward him. "Just a few scratches, Captain," he answered eventually, his words slightly slurred from his likely unwilling sleep.

Well, from what little Jim could see of the man—Sulu's cell seemed to be larger than his own and considerably darker—his injuries were minor, thankfully. "Who else is with you?"

Sulu turned to survey the darkness for a few moments before saying, "Everyone but you and Commander Spock, Captain. Phillips has a nasty wound on the back of her head, and the rest of us got shot with some kind of muscle-inhibiting phaser, but we're alright."

Jim closed his eyes briefly. He shouldn't have sent Phillips back alone. Not that he and Spock had fared any better, but still. He blinked fiercely, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind. What was done was done, and he had to focus on getting them out of this mess now.

"Mr. Spock is in another cell next to mine. I don't know why they separated us, but it can't be good," he said. "Keep an eye on Phillips, and when she wakes up, make sure she doesn't move much. Do you have any of your communicators or scanners?"

The dark blob that was Sulu seemed to rummage around for a few minutes before making his way back to the bars that divided his and Jim's cells. "Sorry, Captain. They must have stripped us when we were unconscious. They even took the spare knife I keep in my boot."

Jim nodded. He hadn't really expected their captors to leave anything behind. If they were human, that meant they were likely familiar with Starfleet and the kind of equipment and training officers have. "Alright. Sit tight, Sulu, and if any of the people who captured us shows up, let me do the talking."

There was a reluctance in the man's voice as he replied, "Aye, sir."

Satisfied that his crew was as safe as they could be in the current conditions, Jim made his way back to the bars the separated him from Spock. "The rest of the landing party is in a cell next to mine," he said, instinctively leaning into the bars and as close to his husband as he could. "For some reason, we were separated from the others. I don't like this."

"Indeed. Either our captors are aware of our respective ranks, or they have chosen us at random. Regardless, it is likely that whatever they intend will be done to us first." Spock didn't say it, but Jim knew what his husband was thinking.

"No, Spock," he hissed, reaching through the bars to scrabble at his sleeve. "When they come back, you are not offering yourself up. Do you understand? I don't know what they want, but I'm sure a Starfleet captain can get it for them. You are not making any noble sacrifices today."

He could feel Spock's muscles tighten under his sleeve. "Jim, whatever they require from us is unlikely to be something you are willing to give, and when you do not bend to their demands, they will seek alternative ways of obtaining what they seek." To another, Spock's voice might seem emotionless, but Jim could hear the tightness in it. "Experience has shown that most often, these methods include physical abuse. It is my duty to protect you, both as my captain and my t'hy'la."

Jim shook his head. "Not like this. It is never your duty to intentionally throw yourself in harm's way for me. Never." They had had this conversation before, and if they survived this, they would have it again. No matter the situation, Jim would always try to spare Spock, and Spock would always try and take a bullet for him. It was the way of the universe, but that didn't mean Jim was going to give up without a fight.

"At least let me try diplomacy first, Spock."

In the dim light, Jim saw his husband arch an eyebrow. "Of course, Captain. However, I—"

Spock's words were cut off by the sound of booted feet approaching their cells. They shared one last look, and then Jim withdrew his hand and stood, striding back to the middle of his cell despite the pain in his side that flared up at the movement. To his left, he heard Sulu and someone else clamber to their feet as well, and he knew without looking that his husband had risen gracefully.

A moment later, three people appeared in front of his cell. The one in the middle was short and slight, his bald head covered in tattoos reminiscent of the marks that once adorned career convicts on Earth. The ink covered most of his face as well, save for where his ragged blond beard grew. The two men at his side were much taller and heavily built. Both were clean-shaven, but their hair was a matted mess, tied into a knot on each of their heads.

"Captain Kirk," the middle one drawled, his words thick with a southern accent not unlike Bones's. "There's a pretty price on your head. Unfortunately, the Klingon who contracted us wants ya alive." The man's face twisted into a nasty grin. "I reckon that's so he can have fun killin' ya himself. Thankfully, he didn't say nothin about yer companions here. That makes them free game."

The man to his left let out a dark chuckle as his eyes seemed to sweep over the cell where Sulu and the others were. Jim stepped forward, forcing back the sneer that threatened to pull at his lips. "Whatever the Klingon offered, I'm sure I can offer more. If you let me contact my starship, I can have—"

"Don't you try that with me, Kirk," the middle one growled. "I don't live under a rock—Starfleet doesn't negotiate. Not for you, and not for your crew. No, you can't give me a damn thing." He paused and stepped forward until his nose was nearly brushing the bars at the front of the cell. "Except for yer pain. Ya see, I'm a scientist of sorts, and before our Klingon friend arrives at the end of the week, I'm gonna run some experiments on you and yer crew. What does it take, I wonder, to break a high-flyin starship captain?"

Jim saw red. He took another angry step forward, no longer able to keep his rage from showing on his face. "You leave them alone. I'm the one you're being paid for, not them. Let my crew go, and I'll go with you quietly." He could feel the alarm thrumming across his bond from Spock, and he responded with fierce determination. If he could get Spock and the others out of here, he would, and then Spock would have the chance to rescue him once he was safe. Stuck in here, though, the Vulcan couldn't do anything to change their situation.

The man laughed, the sound abrupt and harsh. "I don't think so, Kirk. Ya see, that Klingon friend I mentioned doesn't care about your crew, but I do. You starship types are all the same. Ya think everyone who isn't flyin through space with ya is lesser. But I can show ya just how equal we all are. I can bring ya down to my level." He turned to look at the two cells on either side of Jim. "Now, who are ya willin' to sacrifice? I swear on my mama's grave that whoever you chose will be the only one I touch—as long as they can take it. Once they break, I'll move on to someone else."

"I'm not going to choose one of my crew to be tortured!" Jim protested, dread settling in his stomach. "If you want to torture someone, torture me. I'm sure I can give you enough entertainment until your Klingon friend gets here."

The man barked out another laugh. "Oh, you will, Captain. Now, I'll give ya a few minutes to decide who's gonna take one for the team." Before Jim could respond, the man turned on his heel and strode down the hallway past Spock's cell until he was out of sight.

"I'll do it, Captain." That was Gomez's voice. "Security officers are trained to be able to withstand more than regular crewmembers."

"Not going to happen, Gomez," he replied, striding over to the bars that separated them. "What am I supposed to tell your wife? I let you volunteer yourself for torture? No."

"But, sir—"

"I said no, Ensign. And Sulu, don't even think about it. I'm not letting any of you sacrifice yourself to this man's sick game." Gomez and Sulu both looked like they wanted to argue, jaws tense and fists clenched, but they stayed silent. Unfortunately, talking them down was the easy part of the battle, Jim knew.

Sure enough, a quiet voice behind him said, "Captain."

Jim spun around and stalked across the small cell. "No, Spock. Don't. I told you, you don't get to make the sacrifice play this time."

The Vulcan was standing in parade rest, his gaze determined. It was the same look he always got when he tried to talk Jim into letting him run a risky experiment, and he almost always got his way when he used it. 

"I am the logical choice, Captain. I can withstand more physical abuse than any human, and as such, choosing me as the first subject will reduce the likelihood of the rest of the away team being harmed further," Spock stated in the same tone of voice he used when relaying statistics about a nearby star system. "You do not need to order me to give myself over to our captors—I am doing so freely."

Jim felt like his strings had been cut. He sagged against the bars and reached blindly for Spock, who allowed their fingers to intertwine, despite the awkward angle the bars created. "I will be able to draw strength from our bond, Jim," Spock assured him in a low voice. "I have an advantage that the others do not. Please, allow me to do this, t'hy'la."

Grief and despair welled within him, but he pushed the feelings back as he squeezed Spock's fingers again, flooding the Vulcan with  _ lovelovelovefearanguishlovelove _ . "I don't want to do this," he whispered. "I don't want to be the one that hurts you."

Spock leaned forward until his head was resting against the bars, mere inches from Jim's own. "You could never hurt me, ashayam."

As Jim soaked up the feeling of his husband, he heard the sound of booted feet against the stone not far from his cell. He caught Spock's eyes one last time and then stepped away, the single movement taking all his strength. How could he deliver his husband up to these monsters willingly? But then the man and his goons reappeared in front of his cell, and he forced himself to don a mask of false confidence once more.

The spindly man who had spoken earlier stepped forward, his face once again twisted into an expression that was a mix between a sneer and a smile. "So, Captain, who's it gonna be? Yer helmsman? A scientist? One of yer guards?" He inched closer. "Or maybe that half-Vulcan First Officer rumor says yer so fond of?"

Jim felt a bolt of fear flash through his body. The man knew who Spock was. Did that mean he also knew—

"That's right, Jimbo. I know all about you and yer crew. Now, who's it gonna be?"

Jim forced himself to take a deep breath. Spock would be okay. He was stronger than anyone else Jim had ever known, and by now the Enterprise would know that there was something wrong. Scotty and Uhura would be sending people for them soon. All they had to do was hold on, and like it or not, out of all of them, Spock had the best chance of doing that.

"Mister Spock has volunteered himself," he ground out through clenched teeth, and each word felt like he was stabbing himself in the gut. He was sacrificing his husband.

"Hah! Of course he did. I've heard tales of the strength of Vulcans, but we know his blood isn't exactly pure now is it? Let's see how long it takes for him to scream." The man gave another barking laugh as one of his bodyguards stepped forward and began to unlock Spock's cell. "Oh, an' just so you don't get any bright ideas about escapin’, Mister Spock—" He waved his hand, and the other man at his side drew a phaser and pointed it at Sulu, who had stood and was gazing at their captors with rage written across his face. "Now, come quietly, an' there won't be any trouble."

Spock stepped forward silently, hands clasped behind his back as he passed the door of his cell. There was a tightness in his posture, but Jim knew his captors would never be able to see it. Even in tattered clothing and surrounded by men who had taken him captive, Spock was the image of grace and poise. It made Jim's heart clench in his chest, and he sent a desperate pulse of love and sorrow over their bond. Spock's posture relaxed a fraction, but then the henchman hit him in the middle of his back with the butt of his phaser. "Move," he growled, and Spock began walking out of Jim's sight.

"I'll see ya in a few hours, Captain," the spindly man declared with a wild grin. "If your First Officer lasts that long." Then he turned and strode down the hallway, and a few seconds later, both Spock and their captors were out of Jim's sight.

The second they were gone, Jim slumped to the floor and buried his face in his hands. He allowed himself a moment to feel the anger and guilt that was rushing through him, then he shook his head and squared his shoulders. If Spock had to endure this, he wasn't going to do it alone. He had said the bond would give him strength, and Jim would do everything he could to make sure that was the case. Closing his eyes, he began projecting as much warmth, love, and reassurance over the bond as he could.

. . .

Throughout his time stationed aboard the Enterprise, Spock had been held hostage over three dozen times. He had experienced significant physical abuse eleven of these times, and the small room that his captors led him to now was far from unique in its design. It was clearly a room that had been converted into a torture chamber, with a number of whips and other implements lining the walls and chains attached to both the ceiling and floor. Clearly, these men had utilized physical means of persuasion on their prisoners before.

The man that Spock had identified as the leader took a seat in an overly-plush chair in the side of the room and then waved his hand toward his henchmen. A moment later, Spock was being shoved forward, his wrists secured to the chains above him and his feet to the floor. The men completed their work with a silent efficiency before taking up places on either side of him, looking once more to their master for direction.

"Well, Mister Spock. Let's see just how long it takes ya to scream for yer captain." Then he nodded to the henchmen, and Spock heard one of them move away from him and toward the walls. Closing his eyes, Spock began the process of closing his mind off to the pain that he knew would follow. As he did so, he felt the bond in his mind glow warmly with Jim's affection and worry.

As the first strike of the whip cracked across his back, Spock sunk into his mind, wrapping himself in the golden light that was his t'hy'la until it was the only thing he saw, felt, tasted, smelled, heard. Another lash fell against him, but he barely felt it, for it was a mere spark compared to the sun he now dwelled in.

He would endure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think? I hope the villain's accent isn't too irritating, but it just kind of happened. I have no idea why, but my brain was like "he's Southern now" and I was like "why?" "Because." "Alright then." 
> 
> Again, I live for comments, short and long and everything in between—thanks for reading!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They continue to survive, but it's a narrow thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who's shown an interest in this so far! It's rare for me to write three chapters in as many days, but your comments have really kept my muse satisfied.

"Captain? Are you alright?"

Jim heard the words dimly, as if they were muffled by water. He blinked hazily, trying to regain his bearings, and slowly his cell came into focus around him. He reached one hand up and rubbed at his temple, trying in vain to soothe the dull ache there.

"We thought you had fallen asleep, but then you gasped like you had been hurt." That was the scientist's voice, the one Spock was always saying had fascinating ideas about xenobiology. "Is there something wrong?"

Jim blinked a few more times before turning toward the cell where the rest of the away team was. The light was still too dim for him to truly make out anyone more than a foot away from the bars, but it looked like they were all awake now, except for Phillips. Ensign Rowe was kneeling at the bars, her face twisted in concern.

"I'm fine, Ensign. Some of the pain from Mister Spock's side of the bond bled over," he said by way of explanation, his mind still struggling to continue to project love and comfort over the now partially-closed bond. Spock obviously knew that there had been feedback from his end, but Jim refused to allow that to stop him.

His words drew Sulu's attention. Of the crew, only the officers who served on the bridge and a handful of Spock's scientists knew the details of his and Spock's bond. Everyone on the Enterprise knew they were married and bonded, but the entire explanation of what a Vulcan bond was and how theirs was different was more detail than most people needed. Sulu, however, was one of the people who knew the extent of the bond and knew how much pain Spock must be in to accidentally allow any of it to slip across the bond.

"Is there anything we can do to help, Captain?" he asked, and despite everything, Jim couldn't help but feel a flash of pride. How many other captains could claim a crew as selfless as his? Not very many, he thought, not very many at all.

"Not much, Sulu. I'm doing what I can to help Spock draw strength from the bond, but the more he closes it off, the harder that is," he admitted. He hated feeling helpless like this, but right now the only thing he could do was trust Spock's ability to withstand whatever their captors were doing to him. "Have you noticed anything that would indicate there are more than three people in this crew?"

Sulu frowned in thought. "Not that I've seen. We were attacked out of nowhere, but I'm fairly certain it was those two goons who did it."

Jim nodded, the ache in his mind slowly fading as he continued to project as much comfort as he could across the bond. "Good. The Enterprise shouldn't face much resistance when they finally find us then."

"Any idea when that will be?" Although Sulu's words were said with a casual shrug, Jim could read the discomfort in the man's posture, as well as the anger. Their captors were lucky Sulu hadn't had the chance to fight back. 

Unfortunately, he didn't have a good answer for the man. "Mister Spock said the rocks here are likely interfering with the Enterprise's scanners, which means it will take them longer to pin down our signatures," he replied honestly. "But knowing our crew, they won't stop until they've found us."

Sulu nodded in the darkness, and Jim could see Ensign Rowe's posture relax slightly. 

"Get some rest, you two," he ordered with a small smile. "I don't know what these madmen have planned for us next, but we'll need our strength."

Sulu caught his eyes, and Jim knew the man wanted to argue or ask if he was planning on taking his own advice, but instead he turned to the ensign and gently guided her away from the bars and back into the shadows of their cell. "Be careful, Captain," he said, and then he moved back, and Jim heard the sound of hushed voices and shuffling. Sulu would make sure everyone was taken care of.

Shuffling back, Jim rested his head on the wall and allowed his eyes to slip closed once more. He wasn't sure how long Spock had been gone, but it felt like hours. It had to be at least late evening by now, and as strong as his husband was, there was only so much that a body could endure for that long. And the fact that Spock had partially closed off their bond meant that he was afraid of losing control and flooding the bond with his pain. 

He shook his head once, pushing those thoughts back. He needed to be strong right now, for both of them.

. . .

Spock could barely tell what part of his back had been whipped and what had not. Despite his efforts to close off his mind to the pain, it was beginning to creep in at the edges of his consciousness, and every now and then a blow would land particularly hard and sear its way through his mind. He had been forced to limit the flow of the bond in his mind an hour or so ago when he had felt anguish from Jim and knew that some of his pain had seeped across. Now the flow of comfort from his t'hy'la was less powerful, but it was enough to keep him from drowning in the agony that flared with every strike. His control was slipping, however, and he did not know how much longer he would be able to contain his pain.

Then, the blows ceased.

"Well, I gotta say, you Vulcans are made of hardier stuff than I gave ya credit for." Spock opened his eyes to see the bald man leering at him. "As much fun as I think it would be to sit here all night and see what'll make ya break, I believe yer captain could do with a reminder of what he got ya into." As he finished speaking, the shackles around his wrists were released, and the only thing that kept Spock standing was sheer willpower. He would not give this man the satisfaction of collapsing in front of him. Soon enough, the bindings on his ankles were released as well, and he took a careful step forward. The man grinned.

"Yer an impressive specimen, Mister Spock. I reckon you'll be the most enlight’nin' experiment I've performed yet."

A retaliation was on the tip of Spock's tongue, but he bit it back. His body had suffered great abuse, but he had not broken, which meant that the man would likely keep his focus on him rather than turn to another member of the crew. There was no need to provoke him to anger now.

The man studied him for a few moments longer, and although his grin had faded, the crazed light in his eyes remained. It was clear this was a man to whom logic meant little and sanity was a brief and passing thing. Eventually, he turned and began to walk out the door, and Spock followed him down a series of passages until they neared the cells once more. 

Jim must have heard their approach, for even in its closed state Spock felt the bond burst alight with fear and hope. They rounded the corner and stepped into view of the cells, and Spock felt relief flood him. Jim stood in the middle of his cell, anger and concern warring for territory in his expression. One of the henchmen stepped forward and unlocked Spock’s cell as the other moved to point his phaser at Jim. Spock stepped inside obediently, his eyes never leaving his husband's face.

The door clanged shut behind him and the key turned in its lock. He and Jim gazed at each other a moment longer—fear, hope, comfort, rage, guilt, and relief flowing across their bond in a tangled wave of emotion—before Jim turned to their captors.

"Are you planning on feeding us?" he asked, his arms crossed in front of him, and Spock knew the posture was an effort on Jim's part to keep his emotions in check. "You say your Klingon friend is going to arrive at the end of the week, but at this rate all he'll find is a corpse where you promised him a captive."

The leader chuckled. "Fair enough, Jimbo. Yer Mister Spock has fulfilled his end of our little bargain so far, and I am a kind master. You'll have yer food." He turned and walked away once more, this time heading in the opposite direction from where they had come from. As soon as he was out of sight, Spock allowed some of his controls to evaporate and sat gingerly down, the pain in his back flaring at the movement.

Jim was at his side in an instant, fingers reaching through the bars between them. Spock reached up and brushed them briefly, but now that he had allowed himself to feel even a little of the pain, it was overwhelming him.

"Hey, that's alright, sweetheart," he heard Jim whisper. "You've done enough today. Rest."

Spock didn't reply except to lean his head against the bars. He could feel the anger that simmered in his t'hy'la's mind as he took in his wounds, but his husband stayed silent, quietly running his fingers over Spock's own, occasionally reaching up to encircle his wrist before gently drifting back down. Closing his eyes, Spock focused on the sensation. After several minutes, Jim spoke again.

"Is there anything I can do? Do you need to go into your healing trance?" Jim's fingers never ceased their soothing movements, and the sound of his husband's voice caused a wave of calm to wash over Spock. 

"Your projections have been a source of considerable strength, ashayam," he replied, his voice betraying only a fraction of the pain he felt. He was not ashamed of his lack of control, however, not in his t'hy'la's presence. "If our captors do not return with food within the next thirty minutes, I will enter my trance. However, I do not wish to leave you alone."

Jim smiled, both pain and understanding evident in the expression. "Your health is the priority right now, Spock, and besides, I'm not alone."

"Thank you." The words were inadequate, but they were all Spock could offer at the moment, and he hoped his husband understood the depth of his gratitude. Without Jim’s support, he would have broken. 

Jim only shook his head in response, and they lapsed into silence for several minutes. It was a comfortable silence, and Spock was struck once more by how fortunate he was to have Jim as his husband and captain. There was no other in the universe he would rather spend his life at the side of, and knowing that Jim felt the same gave him a strength that had nothing to do with his Vulcan heritage.

He had begun to slip into a light meditative state when he heard the familiar sound of their captors' booted feet from down the hallway. This time, however, there was only one pair of footsteps. Jim must have heard them as well, for he squeezed Spock's fingers gently before letting go and moving away. Their captors already knew a certain...affection existed between them. If they discovered the extent of their connection, it was likely that they would find a way to use it against Jim. With this in mind, Spock stayed silent as his t'hy'la moved back to the center of his own cell, despite the chill that seemed to rush into his skin the instant the contact between them vanished.

Soon enough, one of the henchmen walked into view, carrying a large cloth sack. He stopped in front of the cell Spock assumed held the rest of the landing party and rummaged in the bag for a few moments before throwing a portion of the contents through the cell bars. Then he moved on to Jim's cell and repeated his actions before finally stopping in front of Spock's cell, tossing out a few items, and then striding back the way he had come. 

Once he had left, Spock forced himself to shuffle forward and collect the objects that had fallen to the rough stone. Two hard biscuits—not dissimilar to the kind found in Starfleet emergency supply kits—and a small flask of water. He took a cautious bite of one of the biscuits. The taste was unpleasant, but there were no toxins that his senses could detect, and within a few minutes he had finished them both and was sipping on his water. Perhaps it would have been more logical to save a portion of the meager meal, but he doubted their captor intended to starve them, and he would need the nutrients for his trance. 

When he was finished, he turned back to the cell Jim was in, and in the dim light he could see his husband on the opposite side of his cell, speaking quietly to what appeared to be Lieutenant Sulu and Ensign Gomez. He could not hear the particulars of the conversation and did not attempt to strain his senses to do so. After a few minutes, he saw Jim nod and turn back to him, his expression grim. 

"Phillips still hasn't woken," Jim stated when he had crossed his cell and settled against the bars once again. "Sulu doesn't think her injury is life-threatening, but there's no telling how those phasers messed with her, not to mention the head wound." Although his husband hid it well, Spock could hear the guilt in his words. 

"Do not blame yourself, Jim," he admonished, ignoring the way his back flared with pain as he reached through the bars to brush against the man's arm.

Jim gave a rueful smile. "I'm supposed to be the one comforting you right now, mister. If you're done eating, you should go into your trance. I don't know how long we have until..."

Spock nodded. "I will." He hesitated a moment, looking down at the grey stone before meeting Jim's eyes once more. "Your physical contact is a grounding sensation, while I am in my trance, I would—"

"Of course," Jim replied instantly, and Spock sent a surge of gratitude over their bond. The words were difficult for him to say, even now, and he was endlessly grateful for Jim's understanding. "Would you prefer to lay on your stomach?"

"No," Spock said, shaking his head. "A number of the wounds begin on my back and wrap to my torso. Although my current position is not comfortable, I believe it is the best that I will be able to achieve in my current state."

Rage, bright and hot, flared across their bond for an instant before Jim breathed deeply and reasserted his control. "Okay. If they come back before your trance is over, do you want me to wake you using the bond?"

"That would be preferable, thank you."

Another sad smile twisted Jim's lips. "Rest, Spock."

Spock nodded, and as Jim's fingers intertwined with his through the bars, he allowed his eyes to slip closed.

. . .

They took Spock again only four hours later. Jim wanted to protest—he wanted to do more than that; he wanted to snap the necks of the men who had dared to touch his husband, his t'hy'la—but a knowing look from Spock had silenced him. They both knew that even in his weakened state he had a better chance of enduring whatever it was that their captors had planned. And so he had stayed silent, tears burning in his eyes.

Now, he was feeling flashes of pain across the bond as Spock tried to keep his responses under control. They weren't frequent, but they were often enough for Jim to know that whatever they were doing to his husband was painful—far more than anything he'd ever have been able to withstand.

He continued to project as much love and comfort as he could across their bond, but it was exhausting work when dread hung so heavily over him. Eventually, the darkness became overwhelming and he shuddered, his eyes flying open. 

He looked to the side to see Sulu, Rowe, and Gomez gazing at him with concern written across their shadowed features. Before any of them could ask the obvious question, Jim hauled himself to the bars and leaned against them. "Hey, Sulu, you never did tell me how your last trip to San Francisco turned out," he said, his words shaky from the pain that echoed in his mind. 

Thankfully, Sulu seemed to understand what he needed. "Oh, yes! Well, originally I was going to see the traveling botanical garden that was in town—they're famous for their rare hybrids and reproductions of ancient Earth plants—but then I heard about this conference that was being held. The keynote speaker was Doctor Abadi, and I’ve been trying to get a ticket to hear him speak for years. We always seem to—" Sulu's words washed over Jim, and although his words carried false cheer in the beginning, within a few minutes, the man was excitedly recounting his trip, the other members of the landing party chiming in every now and again.

With those voices in his mind to chase out the darkness, Jim let his eyes slip closed once again, allowing his crew to anchor him as he redoubled his efforts to comfort Spock. None of them were alone, and he would make sure his husband knew that.

. . .

Seven hours later, the henchmen dragged Spock back and tossed him into his cell. Jim was at the bars in an instant, before he even truly registered what had happened. He fell to his knees at the sight of his husband curled on his side, day-old whip marks now joined by what looked like arching burns, the kind someone might get from an electric shock.

He bowed his head, the tears he had been holding back spilling out now. He pushed a fierce wave of love across their bond to drown the sorrow, and to his surprise, Spock responded with his own pulse of gratitude, and Jim choked back a sob.

He watched as Spock slowly rose to his knees and shuffled to the side of the cell, each movement sending small bursts of pain across the bond that Jim knew were multiplied tenfold on the Vulcan's end. When he reached the bars, he extended two shaky fingers, and this time there was nothing Jim could do to keep the strangled sob from escaping him as he met the gesture with his own, feeling the comfort and safety that radiated from the simple touch.

"Do not grieve for me, t'hy'la," Spock said, his voice shaking only slightly. "I do not regret my actions."

Jim squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of Spock's fingers against his own. Selfishly, he allowed himself to draw on the strength that his husband projected even now and he nodded. He swallowed several times, and once he was certain his voice would work, he whispered, "Get some rest, Spock. They brought us some food earlier, and I saved some for you, but you can eat later."

Spock nodded slowly and settled gingerly against the bars so that their fingers could stay slotted together. Jim watched as his eyes fluttered closed and his breath began to even out. Just before his husband slipped into his trance, however, Jim felt Spock in his mind. ' _ Taluhk nash-veh k'dular _ .'

Despite everything, Jim smiled. It was a watery smile, and laden with pain he couldn't even begin to put into words, but it was real. "I love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think so far? I love hearing from you all (even if it's just a keyboard smash) and your comments keep me going, they really do.
> 
> I may or may not update tomorrow (Friday), it'll depend on how the day goes, and I definitely won't be putting anything out on Saturday thanks to an exam that's going to steal my entire day *sobs in mathematics* I still plan to have this all finished by the 18th, although it's looking like 7 chapters now...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, it gets worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, turns out I really should have spent less time writing this and more time studying, but what's done is done. Kaiidth.

Spock woke from his trance slowly. His mind had been at work healing his body for over five hours now, but he had not been able to fully repair the damage that had been done to him. The lacerations on his back were mostly closed and scabbed over now, but the electrical burns he had suffered several hours ago still stretched across his torso and arms. He would require at least two days of extended healing to reverse those wounds, time he doubted he would have as long as he was in this complex.

At his side, he heard shuffling followed by a short gasp of pain, and he looked over to see his husband, still half-asleep, curled on his side, with one hand extended through the bars and interlocked with Spock's own, his other coming up to cover his side where he had been shot with one of the phasers two days previously. Spock sent a wave of comfort over the bond. It was weaker than what he was typically able to manage, but his t'hy'la relaxed regardless, his face smoothing once more into the blank expression of sleep. He doubted Jim had received much rest since they had been captured, and he knew first hand how draining the process of projecting emotions over a partially-closed bond could be, especially when those emotions were as out of place as they were now.

He watched Jim sleep for the next thirteen minutes, then the man began to wake, his eyes fluttering open and meeting Spock's in the dim lighting of their cells.

"You should be in your trance," Jim said, his voice raspy from sleep but still colored with concern. "Did something happen?"

Spock shook his head. "It would be unwise for me to devote any more of my energy to my trance, as it would drain the strength needed to maintain my emotional controls," he responded. 

Sorrow filled Jim's eyes as he pushed himself into a sitting position. "You don't have to keep doing this, Spock. Let me take your place, please."

"You know that our captors would not allow that, Jim, and your conscience will not allow you to sacrifice another member of the away team in my stead." Pain flashed through his mind like a lightning bolt as he tried to reach the hand not entwined with Jim's through the bars to touch his husband's face. He settled for ghosting his fingers across the man's shoulder, and Jim leaned into the touch. "I will survive this."

Jim swallowed thickly. "Promise?"

Logically, Spock knew that there was little he could do to control the situation. His captors had said that they would torture him until he 'broke', but he had no way of knowing what would happen after. They could very well decide to kill him once he no longer offered them a source of amusement. But looking into Jim's eyes, Spock knew that he would fight with every remaining ounce of his strength to return to his t'hy'la.

"I promise."

Worry and doubt sparkled in Jim's eyes, but the man nodded. "Do you want that food I saved for you earlier?"

"If you can spare it." 

Jim shot him an incredulous look and then moved away for a moment before returning with one of the hard biscuits and a flask. Spock took them reverently and ate slowly, savoring the bland taste and lukewarm water as it washed down his throat. Jim watched him intently the entire time, wordlessly taking the flask back when he had finished. 

Several minutes passed as they simply gazed at each other, dozens of unsaid fears and hopes and assurances passing through the threads of their bond. Eventually, Jim said, "You should sleep if you can't go into your trance. I know you're exhausted."

Spock did not bother to deny the statement. His control over their bond had slipped enough that he did not doubt that Jim was able to feel the tired ache that seemed to blanket his mind and body. Still, he was unwilling to succumb to the call of sleep. "I would rather not."

Jim heard the words he did not say. "I'll still be here when you wake up, Spock."

"Still."

Jim nodded and sighed. "Alright then. Will you at least meditate? Like that time we were stuck on Anasis II?"

Spock blinked in surprise. They had been separated from the Enterprise for three days on the frigid planet due to atmospheric disturbance, and he had only managed to attain a meditative state while listening to his t'hy'la's voice drown out the blizzard outside. And now Jim was offering the same once more, despite the exhaustion that laced his words.

"If you are willing."

The corner of Jim's lips turned up. "Of course I'm willing, Spock. Anything in particular you want to hear me drone on about?"

Spock shook his head.

"Hmmm. Alright then." His husband fell silent for several moments, obviously deep in thought. Then, "Have I ever told you how gorgeous you looked the day we were bonded? I mean, I was dying in those robes, but you looked like some kind of god. I told Bones that there had been a mistake, that there was no way you could possibly want to bind yourself to me for the rest of your life, and he just pushed me out the door." Jim laughed quietly, and Spock allowed his eyes to close once again, focusing his mind on regulating out his breathing. 

"You look gorgeous in just about every color, but the tans and reds in your robes made you shine. And the love in your eyes. Stars, Spock, I almost couldn't go through with the ceremony—I just wanted to kiss you right there in front of everyone. I didn't hear half the words T'Pau said. I thought I was in a dream. But then she bonded our minds fully, and I knew it had to be real, because I could never invent something as perfect as what I felt right then. We had melded before, but that time was—" Jim's voice continued, his words laced with love and joy and pride, and Spock slowly slipped deeper into his meditation.

. . .

"—and it was worth every second." Jim looked over at his husband, and he could tell through the thrumming of their bond that he was too deep in his meditation to actually hear what he was saying and likely had been for some time. Still, recounting their bonding ceremony had brought the emotions associated with the day to the surface, and the memory of the sheer joy he had felt that day chased away some of the dread that still hung over him.

For a long moment, he simply gazed at his husband, taking in the tattered remains of his uniform shirt—it was in shreds from the shoulders down—and the injuries that marred his skin. The whip marks were healing well, but the electric burns were surrounded by raised skin tinged a sickly green color. They were scattered like starbursts across both his torso and his lower arms. They appeared to be mostly second-degree burns, which meant they likely wouldn't cause any permanent damage when combined with Spock's healing trances.

Looking at the sheer number of injuries that his husband had accumulated sent a painful mix of rage and guilt through Jim, but he shoved it back, careful not to let the emotions slip across their bond and disturb Spock's much-needed rest. 

Eventually, his evaluation was disrupted by a voice coming from the other cell. "How is he, Captain?"

Jim turned—still keeping one hand in Spock's—to face the other cell. He could make out Ensign Rowe through the bars, as well as a shadowed figure behind her Jim thought might be Sulu. He thought for a moment before answering. Spock was holding up, and he would continue to do so for as long as he was physically capable. But at the same time, he was seriously injured, and Jim had no way of knowing what their captors would do to him next.

"He's been in his trance, but he's meditating now. Once we're back to the Enterprise, he'll need immediate medical attention," he settled for saying.

The person who had been sitting in the shadows moved forward. Sulu. "Captain, please, let me take his place. The commander's done enough."

Jim shook his head, instinctively squeezing his husband's fingers. "As long as Spock can stand, he won't let that happen, Sulu, and you know it. He's strong enough to do this."

"But for how much longer?" That was Rowe's voice. "No one should have to put up with this kind of abuse."

"No, they shouldn't, but as Mister Spock would say 'the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one' right now," Jim nearly choked on the words, but he pushed on. "His Vulcan healing and strength give him an advantage none of us have."

Rowe and Sulu must have heard the hard edge to his words because they didn't argue again. Instead, Sulu shifted the conversation, saying, "Phillips is looking better. She still hasn't woken, but the wound on the back of her head is healing."

"Keep an eye on her," Jim ordered, "and save some of the food they give us for her if you can."

"I've been setting aside one of the biscuits for her each time," Rowe replied, and Jim could hear the concern in the woman's voice.

"She's strong, Ensign. She'll be alright," he said firmly, and Rowe nodded. Jim almost believed his own words.

He was about to ask if any of the away team had been experiencing any after-effects of being hit with those strange phasers—his side still spasmed in pain every now and then—but the sound of footsteps in the hallway stopped him. No, they couldn't be back for Spock. Not so soon. Still, he sent a flash of warning across the bond to warn Spock and moved away, the Vulcan's fingers slipping from his own as he did.

The bald man and his two henchmen, who Jim couldn't help but think of as Tweedledee and Tweedledum, stepped into view a moment later. The man was grinning savagely, and the expression sent a shiver of dread running down Jim's spine that he barely managed to suppress. "I've gotta hand it to ya, Jimbo, yer First Officer's one hell of a specimen. I doubt he'll last much longer, mind you, but he's given it a good run."

Jim heard Spock rise to his feet and every instinct in his body screamed at him to order Spock to sit down and stay silent and let him deal with their captors because Spock had suffered so much more than he could ask of him, but he kept his mouth closed, jaw clenching angrily. 

"Your attempts to aggravate my captain will not yield the results you desire," Spock said, drawing the man's eyes, his voice quiet but strong despite everything. "Your experiment is thus far proving your hypothesis to be false."

Jim sent a burst of alarm over their bond. Was Spock trying to get them riled up? They had already tortured him for two days and weren't exactly showing any signs of letting up any time soon. Spock's only response was to stand up straighter and keep his gaze fixed on their captors. 

"Still got a spark in ya? Heh." The man turned his gaze to Jim. "Let's see if I can't do somethin' about that." He waved one hand, and Tweedledee stepped forward and unlocked Spock's cell. This time, however, instead of letting Spock walk out on his own, the man grabbed Spock roughly by his already-injured arm and pulled him from the cell and into the hallway. Spock suffered the indignity in silence, although Jim could feel an echo of the pain that flared in him at that action. 

"When Starfleet finds out what you've done, you'll rot in a prison colony for the rest of your life," Jim declared, his voice level but dangerously low. 

Another barking laugh clawed from the man's throat. "That’s been tried before, Jimbo. Y'all Starfleet types can't seem to keep me down." He turned away, and Tweedledee began to drag Spock off. Jim watched as his husband was yanked around the corner with clenched fists, his blunt nails drawing crescent moons of blood from his palms. 

. . .

This time, when Spock was dragged into the small torture room, his captors did not return him to the now green-stained shackles in the center of the room. Instead, they forced him to walk to the far-right corner of the room where a low tub stood. The man holding him pushed him to the ground, and the impact of the stone on his knees jolted up his legs and back to the base of his skull, causing the whip marks to ache fiercely. 

Looking down, Spock saw the dull reflection of the ceiling in the water of the tub, pieces of ice disrupting the image in a number of places. It was not difficult to extrapolate what today's torture would consist of. Despite his efforts to control his reactions, he could not help but flinch a centimeter away from the water. He had grown to adulthood in a desert where water was rare, and where it existed almost always violent, even in the life-bringing rains.

"I see ya understand what's goin' on," the leader laughed from somewhere behind Spock, likely the same chair he had sat in for the past two days. The man never participated in the torture, merely observed, occasionally making twisted comments about his 'experiment' as is henchmen carried out their systematic abuse."There's something primal about a man's fear of water, and I reckon it's a trait we lowly humans share with Vulcans."

Spock stayed silent and began to seek out the bond in his mind. He still kept it partially blocked, especially now that he knew what he would be facing, but he could feel the comfort radiating from it despite that. He took that comfort and enveloped his mind in it, forcing his heart to slow and his breaths to remain even. 

Dimly, he heard the sound of hands clapping, and before he could brace himself, he was shoved forward and his head forced under the water. 

The first thing he felt was icy cold pressing at his skin. A human's system likely would have begun to go into shock at the abrupt change in temperature, and as it was, Spock was barely able to keep from gasping a lungful of water. He screwed his eyes shut and focused on the bond, willing it to warm him. Time dragged on.

Two minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Spock was pulled from the water, and he could not prevent the gasping breath he drew into his lungs. He had only a handful of seconds to breathe, however, before he was submerged once again.

This time, it was more difficult to stop his body's instinctive reaction, and he was forced to loosen his grip on the bond in order to focus his controls on keeping the frigid water out of his lungs. By the time he was able to breathe air once again, his vision had begun to darken, and he hovered on the edge of unconsciousness. 

From the corner of the room came a quiet tsking sound. "Now, now, that won't do. Can't have ya fallin' asleep on my just yet, Mister Spock. I haven't had the chance to properly break down those fancy controls of yers yet."

As the man finished speaking, Spock felt his uniform pants being cut open from the middle of his thigh to his knee. An instant later, electricity arced over the sensitive skin, and it took every ounce of Spock's remaining control to keep from yelling out or flinching away. His senses were alert instantly as his body was flooded with adrenaline, and he had just enough presence of mind to take a deep breath before he was forcibly submerged once more.

As the seconds dragged on and the stinging of his face began to numb, Spock felt alarm and fear race across the bond. The feeling was sharp and sudden, and he knew that his controls had slipped to the point that Jim could feel much more than the mere echo of his pain. Clumsily, the majority of his mind still focused on denying the burning in his lungs, Spock pushed an apology and reassurance back to his t'hy'la. Jim's helplessness was suffering enough, he didn't need—

Spock was pulled from the water again, this time by his hair instead of the tattered remains of his shirt, and he drew in a ragged breath. 

"It's a good thing yer built of stronger stuff than a human is. I doubt any of yer other crewmates could survive this little treatment for very long. Not even that captain of years."

Despite the brutal grip on his hair, Spock managed to turn his head enough to lock eyes with the man in the opposite corner of the room. "Captain Kirk is stronger than you believe," he rasped, his throat sore from his efforts. 

Another flash of concern jumped across the bond, and Spock could almost see his husband's face, those precious lips turned down in a heavy frown and brow furrowed. 

"Maybe yer right," the man drawled, leaning forward slightly in his chair, "but I'm enjoyin' this too much to stop now."

Pain flared to life in his leg as another jolt of electricity arced through him. An instant later, Jim's concern returned in force, bordering on panic, pain bleeding into the projection as well. As the man's grip tightened on his hair, Spock sent a final pulse of assurance and love across the bond before slamming his shields down, fully blocking the bond.

The effect was instantaneous. His mind felt void, as if there was now only empty space where there had once been a brilliant star. The pain he had been staving off with the aid of Jim's comfort rushed to the forefront of his mind, but he had no time to contemplate it as he was once again buried in the water. Even as the icy water stung at his face, his lungs burned, and his diaphragm began to spasm, he felt a grim sense of satisfaction.

. . .

"No!" The shout ripped itself from Jim's throat as he bolted upright, the emptiness already beginning to seep into his mind.

"What happened?"

Jim turned to Sulu, not truly seeing the man through the tears that had sprung to his eyes. He reached for the bond in his mind, throwing his mental presence at the wall that had sprung up with as much force as he could muster, but Spock's shield didn't budge. He blinked dully, feeling numb.

"Captain?"

Spock had told him, once, what it would feel like to close the bond off fully, but he hadn't explained how  _ alone _ Jim would feel without the bond glowing in his mind. It was as if someone had reached in and pulled out a part of him, one so intrinsic to his being that he didn't know who he was without it.

He bowed his head, tears slipping down his face. Spock would only do this if he knew his controls were close to failing. He felt something brush his shoulder and looked over to see Sulu's hand resting there silently. He forced his gaze up.

"Spock closed off the bond."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides under blanket* Please don't kill me! I know things are looking rough, but I swear they'll get better! Also, thank you so much to everyone who has commented so far. You've really helped me power through writing this fic.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, it gets even worse before it gets better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I had major writer's block trying to write this chapter yesterday, and I got about half of it down before giving up. Then I woke up and saw a number of beautiful comments from chapter 4, and that gave me the motivation I needed to finish this. Should I wait to post this and give myself a chance to edit it, yes. Will I, no. So, I apologize for the state of this chapter.
> 
> Update: I edited a little bit. Mostly just things to make sentences flow better and such, so if you've already read it, don't bother reading it again.

Step, step, turn, step, step, step, turn, step, step. Jim spun again as he came up on the wall of his cell, not really seeing his surroundings as he paced. The only thing his mind could focus on was the gaping absence he felt. It had been almost four hours since Spock had closed the bond, and he still hadn't adjusted to the empty feeling it caused.

He had tried to break down the wall Spock had erected between them, but Spock was a highly-trained telepath, and Jim was no match for his abilities, especially not weakened as he was now. Which meant his husband was truly alone. 

Jim wanted to be angry. How could Spock just shut him out like this? They had promised to stand together, and that meant sharing their joys and their pains. But he couldn't, not when he knew that Spock had done it to protect him. Whatever Spock was going through now, it was bad enough that he had sacrificed his only source of comfort to shield Jim from it. 

It wasn't a happy thought.

He was turning on his heel to make another round of his tiny cell when he heard footsteps in the hall and froze. A few moments later, Tweedledee and Tweedledum stepped into sight, dragging Spock between them. The Vulcan's head was limp against his chest, his hair and the shreds of his shirt dripping wet. For a heart-stopping moment, Jim couldn't tell if his husband was alive or dead. Then, Spock lifted his head just enough to meet Jim's eyes for an instant, barely long enough for Jim to read the exhausted triumph there. 

Tweedledee unlocked Spock's cell and threw him in. He collapsed against the floor, gasping out a ragged breath, and Jim saw red. "What did you do to him?" he growled, stalking toward the front of his cell. The henchmen didn't respond, and for a moment, Jim considered pressing them as they turned away, demanding they answer him, but then he heard his husband half-say-half-groan,

"Jim..."

In an instant, his rage was gone, replaced by concern that edged on panic. He took two quick steps to where Spock was curled on his side against the bars and dropped to his knees, reaching both hands through the bars toward his husband.

"I'm right here, Spock. What do you need? What can I do?"

He skimmed the fingers of one hand over his husband's shoulder, but instead of leaning into the touch as he often did, Spock flinched backward, and Jim snatched his hand away immediately. Guilt flooded him, but before he could apologize, Spock lifted himself up to lean on the bars, shaking his head as he moved.

"My shields are too weak, Jim," he rasped, lifting his head to look Jim in the eyes. "I would not be able to prevent you from feeling my pain. Please."

Jim bowed his head, unable to meet Spock's gaze. There was so much love and concern in his husband's expression—as if he were the one in need of comfort rather than Spock. "Okay," he said finally, the word little more than a whisper. He took a deep breath, forcing his mind to calm. "Can you go into your trance?"

Spock shook his head. "It will do little good. Our captor left me to answer a call from his Klingon empl—" Spock's words were cut off by a hacking cough, and it took everything in Jim not to reach out and run a soothing hand down his side. "Employer. I believe the timetable has advanced. He will be back soon."

Jim's eyes widened. If the Klingon had decided to arrive sooner than their captors had expected, that meant that they didn't have much time left to run their 'experiment' and after seeing the insane light in the leader's eye, Jim didn't doubt that he would do whatever he could to achieve his desired results as quickly as possible.

"They're doing this to you to get to me, right?" he asked, forcing the words past the panic in his throat. "Let me tell them they succeeded; I can give them the show they want!"

"No, ash—" Another cough. "Ashayam. They will simply move on to another member of the crew. Their leader is insane. He does not follow the bounds of logic or common sense."

Jim collapsed against the bars. "Spock, I can't let them have you again," he whispered. "They're going to kill you."

"I can endure a while longer," Spock replied, but the strength that had laced his husband's voice for the past few days was nearly gone now, and even without the bond, Jim knew that Spock was hovering on the edge. He wouldn't be able to take much more. 

"You need to sleep, Spock," he finally said, and although it wasn't anywhere near what he had wanted to say, it was still true, and he was glad when his husband nodded and moved away from the bars to lay on his back, his eyes quickly falling closed. The Vulcan was exhausted, he knew, and he felt sleep pulling at him as well.

He forced himself to stand and walk over to where Sulu and the others were. "Sulu, Rowe, get some sleep," he ordered. "Gomez, keep watch. If you hear them coming back, wake me up."

Their shadowy forms nodded. "How is he?" Sulu asked after a moment, just as Jim was turning away. He paused.

"His body can't withstand much more," he admitted quietly. "But I believe in the crew of the Enterprise. They're looking for us, and they will find us." And that was the truth; he knew his crew wouldn't stop searching for them no matter how long it took. But what would Scotty and Uhura find when they finally tracked them down?

Jim turned away and walked slowly back to the other side of his cell, sinking to the floor. His limbs were heavy with exhaustion, and he was barely able to pull himself over to the bars before he was asleep. 

. . .

Spock woke to the sound of his husband breathing deeply in the still air of their cells. It was obvious from the irregularity of the breaths that he was trying to contain some emotion or stave off a panic attack. Jim must have heard him shifting into a sitting position because the breaths stopped and he turned toward the bars, his face a pained mask of grief and guilt.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said softly, looking down at the ground. "Go back to sleep, Spock. You'll need your strength."

For a moment, Spock hesitated. Jim was right, he knew. Whatever he would face next would be worse than what he had endured thus far, and his mental controls were already in shambles. He would need every ounce of strength he could muster to keep the attention of their captors focused on him. But even though the bond remained closed, Spock knew his t'hy'la was hurting, and he could not leave Jim like this.

"Forgive me for blocking the bond, Jim," he said, his damaged throat causing his voice to sound raspy in the quiet air. "I know it is...difficult."

Jim looked up at him, a pained smile on his lips. "It is, but I understand. I just wish I could do something to help you. I feel so useless."

Spock heard the frustration in his husband's voice, and he understood. Jim was a man of action, and confining him to a cell where he could do nothing was a far greater torture than any physical abuse his captors could inflict upon him, a fact their captors understood well. Unfortunately, there was nothing Spock could do to alter their situation.

"For once, Jim, you must rely on others to help you. Our crew will—" The rest of his words were cut off by the too-familiar sound of feet against the stone. Adrenaline flooded his tired body and he leaned toward his husband. "Do not worry for me, Jim," he pleaded, his words quick.

Jim didn't get the chance to reply, although Spock could see the protest written on his husband's face. Their captors stepped into the hall, the leader once again grinning in that feral way that Spock had unconsciously begun to associate with pain.

"My Klingon friend is comin' tomorrow, a few days ahead of schedule," he drawled, sauntering over to the bars of Jim's cell. "Guess he couldn't wait to get his hands on ya." 

Spock watched Jim stand, hands clenched into fists, and stalk to the bars. "Even if you sell me off, my crew will never stop tracking you down," he said, and Spock knew it was as much a promise as a threat. "There will not be a moon you can hide on where they won't find you."

The man clicked his tongue in a disapproving sound. "Maybe yer right, but that just means I can't leave any unfinished business behind, and that Vulcan of years, captain, is unfinished business."

On an unspoken command, the two henchmen moved forward to Spock’s cell, one unlocking the door and the other stepping forward to pull him up from the floor. The man’s grip was a vice around his arm, and it caused the electrical burn there to flare with pain once again. Spock grit his teeth against the sensation and allowed himself to be hauled up. His eyes found Jim’s and their gazes stayed locked as the man began to pull him from the cell. There was fear in Jim’s eyes, and it would be a lie for Spock to say that he did not feel some echo of it as well.

Then the man holding him wrenched him around, and their gaze broke.

The henchman began dragging him away, although Spock noticed that the man in charge lingered, likely to further taunt his captain. If there was anything he regretted about his current situation, it was the fact that he could do nothing to ease Jim’s sense of helplessness. Jim was meant to be in action, and even when physically still, his mind was constantly turning. It was what made him such a dangerous opponent in both chess and combat. Now, however, Jim’s advantage was his weakness. Spock knew his t’hy’la’s mind was analyzing every angle of the current situation in search for some solution, just as he knew that there was nothing to find.

His attention snapped back to his own circumstances when he heard a door open. He blinked, and his tired mind took three seconds longer than it should have to process the scene in front of him. The room he had been tortured in for the past three days was now empty save for a wooden chair. The chair had restraints attached to both the legs and back, and there was some sort of folding table that seemed to be able to swing around to the front of the seat. Before his mind could extrapolate as to its purpose, he was forced forward.

The henchmen pushed him into the seat and quickly fastened the restraints around his ankles and torso, the stiff leather rubbing against his wounds painfully if he moved even slightly. Then one of the men swung the table into place and locked it there, and realization crashed over Spock like a tidal wave.

His arms were wrenched into place on the desk and bound so that they were flat against the rough wood from his elbow to his wrist. Despite his efforts to keep his emotions in check, a flare of panic rose to the forefront of his mind, and he was grateful that the bond remained closed. He could not allow Jim to feel even the slightest fraction of what he knew was to come. 

Not long after the henchmen had moved to the sides of the room, their jobs complete now that he was secure, the door opened once again and the third captor stepped through. This time, however instead of stepping to the side of the room with some taunt or another and allowing his henchmen to have their way, he strode up to Spock , a sadistic grin on his face and a thin whip in his hands.

“Since our deadline’s nearin’, I’ve decided to introduce new stimuli to my experiment to see if I can’t speed up the results,” he said, turning the whip over in his hands in an almost absent-minded motion. “Now, ya might argue that I’m changin’ the conditions too late in the experiment for the results to be accurate,” the man leaned forward, and Spock could smell the staleness of his breath, “but I disagree. I think you’ll give me results that’re plenty valid.”

“Regardless of the results, your efforts to affect my captain will prove futile,” Spock replied, and his controls were too damaged for him to prevent the pride from leaking into his voice. “His will is stronger than your own.”

The man’s bearded face contorted into a sneer. “We’ll see about that. Now, do me a favor and make sure ya scream real loud.” As he finished speaking, the man sent the whip slicing through the air to crack against the fingers of Spock’s left hand.

The pain was instantaneous, and it was all Spock could do to keep his mask of stoicism in place, and even that was cracking he knew. Two more strikes landed in quick succession, and he could feel blood begin to ooze to the surface, staining his hands. The whip was small and sharp, which meant that the man could maneuver it more precisely for maximum damage. 

“See, while the boys here were cleanin’ up, I took a little time to do some research on Vulcans,” the man stated conversationally as he leaned down to inspect his handiwork. “And I learned that yer hands are sensitive. Now, the info I got my hands on said that’s ‘cause of yer telepathy, but I figured that sensitivity meant more nerve endin’s. Looks like I was right.”

He stood back up, and Spock focused his gaze on a point five centimeters above the man’s left shoulder. The whip fell again, higher this time, just below his nails. Although the damage was comparatively little in light of the other injuries he had sustained, the pain was much worse, far more than Spock was able to block in his current state. That did not mean that he would give in to this man, however.

The next strike fell, this time on his right hand, and Spock could not stop the involuntary flinch of his hand. His torturer saw the motion and laughed, the sound grating Spock’s sensitive ears. Five more strikes fell, and Spock’s mind began to become hazy from the sheer overload of pain.

In general, pain was something that could be managed, or at the very least ignored, but the nerve endings in Spock’s hands burned so brightly they could not be ignored no matter what methods he attempted. Six more strikes fell in a random order against his skin, and he knew his blood was now soaking into the wood beneath his fingers.

A particularly hard lash curled around his index finger, and he could not stop himself from attempting to jerk away from the sensation. The restraints stopped him, but even that small movement caused the leather to dig into the wounds that decorated his torso, and a hiss escaped him.

The blows stopped.

“What was that, Mister Spock? You uncomfortable?” The man leaned in again, and Spock met his eyes, barely managing to keep his impassive mask in place. He had slipped, but he would not willingly give this man anything further. He would have to force it from him, and he would fight every step of the way.

“Hmmm.” The man drew back and seemed to consider Spock for a moment, then he landed four strikes against the fingers of his left hand so quickly Spock could not separate them or the pain they caused. “Let’s see just how long you can last.”

. . .

“Captain,” the word, charged with determination and anger broke the tense silence that hung over the cells and had done so since Spock left over an hour ago. Jim turned to Sulu, already knowing what the man was going to say. “I can’t sit here any longer and let the commander be tortured. I won’t.”

Jim knew, in the back of his mind, that he should argue with Sulu—he needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one, even Spock—but his husband was suffering, and every nerve in his body screamed at him to do something, anything to end the pain he knew his t’hy’la was in.

Still, he wasn’t going to allow Sulu to offer himself up like some kind of sacrificial lamb without at least trying to take the bullet himself. “The next time they come, I’m going to try and get them to take me,” he replied, not even trying to hide the anger and concern in his voice. “They can’t kill me, but I’ve always had a talent for getting people angry. If I can get their leader mad, he might decide to teach me a lesson, and that’ll buy us time for the Enterprise to find us.”

“And if they don’t take you?”

Jim didn’t reply, but he met Sulu’s eyes in the dim light, and he knew the man understood. He couldn’t force himself to sacrifice a member of his crew. He couldn’t. But at this point, he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to order Sulu not to volunteer himself.

Any further conversation was cut off, however, by the sound of footsteps in the hallway nearby. These footsteps, however, were not the familiar lumbering steps of their captors. These were hurried, quiet steps. Jim turned back to Sulu, eyes wide before stepping up to the front of his cell. He strained his eyes, trying to peer past Sulu’s cell to where the hall turned. A moment later, relief flooded him, nearly causing him to stumble it was so powerful, as four people in familiar red uniforms rounded the corner, phasers drawn.

“Over here, Lieutenant,” he called, unable to stop the grin that pulled his lips up. Uhura rushed over, phaser drawn and a deadly look in her eyes.

“It’s good to see you, Captain,” she said, “Step back.” Jim obeyed the command, and Uhura turned up the setting of the phaser and pointed it at the rusty lock. An instant later, the lock was in a puddle on the floor, and Jim was stepping through the open door. Next to him, Sulu and the rest of the away team was stepping out of the cell, Gomez and one of the security members rescuing them carrying Ensign Phillips, who still hadn’t woken.

“Gomez, Rowe, and two of you need to take Phillips back to the Enterprise,” Jim ordered. “She needs immediate medical attention. The rest of you—” Pain burst into life in Jim’s mind like a supernova and he shouted, falling to his knees, his hands instinctively going to his head. There was so much,  _ stars _ , it was like every nerve in his body was on fire. 

The pain dimmed slightly, and Jim gasped for breath. He focused his mind and dove back into the pain, searching for its source. It didn’t take long. The wall that Spock had put up to block their bond was shattered, and the bond was writhing in his mind, Spock’s agony pulsing over it in sharp bursts that nearly drove the breath from Jim’s body again.

“We have—we have to get to Spock,” he said, still gasping in a vain attempt to push back the torrent of pain that overwhelmed him. Uhura nodded and gestured to two of the security officers. One of them handed Jim and Sulu each an extra phaser, and then they took off down the hall. 

Sulu pulled him to his feet and wordlessly wrapped one arm around Jim’s waist as they followed after Uhura and the others.

. . .

Spock bit down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood in an attempt to keep himself from screaming as pain rushed from his hands up his arms. His mask had broken long ago, but he still hadn’t made a sound aside from his first hiss of pain, and he refused to give in. Then another lash fell against his hands, right on top of where the last blow had been. The pain spiked in his mind, and copper filled his mouth once more. Then a third blow landed in the same place, and he had to divert every shred of his mental energy to forcing his vocal chords to remain frozen, but he underestimated the strain it would place on his abilities, already stretched so thin, and he felt something snap. Then panic flooded him that was not his own, and he realized that the bond had been slammed open once more. 

It was too much. The sensation of Jim’s mind suddenly in his own again, so bright and welcoming, as well as the agony that still radiated from his fingers—he could no longer tell what part of his hands were uninjured, or if such a thing even existed—overwhelmed him. His mind began to retreat, to disconnect itself from his current, painful reality. It was dangerous, dissociating this way when his controls were so frayed, but there was little he could do to stop it, and he began to surrender to the lure of Jim’s mind.

He dimly heard the door to the room being slammed open—when had his eyes fallen closed?—but it was as if the sound was coming from far away. He heard other sounds too, but his mind was too far gone to distinguish them from one another, and he began to drift until he felt something brush against his injured hands, and this time he could not step the groan of pain that was wrenched from his throat. His eyes flew open, but the chaos he saw was too much for his mind to process, and they fluttered shut again, sounds washing over him.

Some time later the noises quieted, and he felt the pressure around his torso and legs ease, although he couldn’t remember why the pressure had been there in the first place. Then hands moved to his arms, and he hissed, flinching away from the sensation. More sound flooded his ears, and the sound was familiar, but it was too much, too much for his battered mind.

Then he felt a familiar tug at the bond that sung within him, and he leaned into it. Safety and reassurance flooded him, and this time when hands—different than before—lightly touched the restraints on his arms, Spock remained still. The pressure on his arms disappeared, and the gentle touch retreated for a moment before returning, pulling Spock upward.

Spock forced his eyes open and was met with a sea of gold leading to a familiar face, twisted in concern. His body pitched forward and strong arms caught him, and then he was being lifted. His injured hands brushed against fabric and he hissed, but a gentle pulse of affection and safety across the bond soothed the pain, and he finally allowed himself to surrender completely to its warmth, all other sensation falling away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhura is a boss and I love her. And our boys are safe now! Relatively speaking...
> 
> Thanks again for all of the amazing comments y'all have sent me, I love them so much!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soft space husbands in sickbay.

“Uhura to Enterprise, four to beam up,” Jim heard, but his mind was too focused on his husband, who had fallen limp in his arms and was breathing only shallowly against his neck, to pay much attention to them, so when he felt the familiar tingling sensation of a transporter beam surround him an instant later, it took him by surprise. Then, he was on the transporter pad of his ship.

They were greeted by a flurry of movement all around as Uhura stepped off the platform and blue-uniformed medical personnel rushed forward to help Sulu off. One of them, a young man with dark, expressive eyes, tried to take Spock from him to help him onto the stretcher in the center of the crowded room, but the second the man’s hand made contact with Spock’s skin, the Vulcan flinched away and let out a low groan of pain, burrowing further into Jim’s hold.

Jim sent a wave of affection across their bond, which was still blown wide open in his mind, and murmured a few soothing words into the crown of Spock’s head before turning to the nurse. “I need Bones and M’Benga,” he said, forcing some authority into his voice, although he was so exhausted at this point he wasn’t sure how much of that he had left. “Tell them that I think something they did is messing with his touch-telepathy.” The young man nodded calmly, stars he had such a good crew, and crossed the room to speak into the comm unit there. 

Jim maneuvered himself and Spock until they were sitting against one of the walls of the transporter. Spock was mostly in his lap, head on Jim’s shoulder and turned away from the commotion of the room, as if the sounds and sights were overwhelming him, which they probably were. Taking a deep breath, Jim closed his eyes and allowed himself to embrace the pulsing bond in his mind, taking in the myriad of sensations that flowed over it from Spock’s end. 

At first, it was too much for him to distinguish one emotion or thought from another. He knew that Spock always kept their bond slightly blocked so that they could focus, but this was incredible. He had shared mind melds with his husband before dozens of times, but even then Spock’s mind was always ordered and logical. 

_ “You’re safe now, Spock,”  _ he pushed through the bond. He hadn’t yet gotten to where he could communicate full sentences through their connection normally, but with the bond as open as it was, he had a feeling his message would get through. An instant later, he felt a wave of gratitude wash over him, but it was quickly overshadowed by a sharp stab of anxiety and pain.

Jim’s heart clenched in his chest, and he leaned forward until his forehead was pressed against Spock’s dishevelled hair.  _ “I know. It’s going to be okay, I promise. Bones and M’Benga are going to fix you up, but you have to hang on for me, Spock, alright? Just hang on. We’re safe now.” _

A hand on Jim’s shoulder—the one not occupied by Spock’s head—pulled Jim from his mind, and he opened his eyes, blinking up to see M’Benga staring down at him, worry etched into his strong features.

“Nurse Jacques said you think there’s something wrong with Commander Spock’s telepathy?”

Jim nodded, shifting slightly so that the doctor could see the damage that had been done to Spock’s hands. Looking at the broken skin sent rage bursting through Jim like a firecracker, but he stomped it down. Ensign Richardson was on the planet standing guard over the three men who had captured them—Uhura had gotten two shot in before they had even had a chance to react—and right now his focus needed to be on Spock.

“He’s experiencing some kind of intense sensory overload,” Jim explained. “He won’t let anyone else touch him. I think he can’t control the feedback he’s getting from others’ emotions.” Spock’s hands twitched, and his husband let out a quiet moan into the side of his neck.

M’Benga nodded. “Alright. Since the two of you are bonded, your emotions must not be as painful for him, which means you’re probably the only thing keeping him grounded right now. Can you walk, Captain? I’m going to need you to stay in physical contact with the commander for as long as you can.”

“I can, but Spock isn’t going to be able to make it very far.” Walk might be a generous term for what his limbs were able to do right now—he was so  _ tired _ —but he would do it if it meant helping Spock.

“Alright, we’ll get him on the stretcher. Can you lift him?”

Jim had trouble lifting Spock on a good day. The Vulcan was much denser than a human, and right now he was practically dead weight. Still, he knew that any help he received would send pain flaring through Spock’s mind, and so he nodded and pulled Spock up with him, gathering his husband in his arms and stumbling the few steps to the stretcher, laying his husband down as carefully as he could. 

Another groan fell from Spock’s lips as the material of the stretcher brushed against the scabbing wounds on his back, but then he fell quiet. Jim brushed the hair away from Spock’s forehead and sent another wave of affection and reassurance across their bond before moving his hand down to gently grip the thankfully undamaged skin of Spock’s forearm. He looked up to see M’Benga talking lowly to the nurse Jim had spoken to earlier. The young man nodded and then rushed off, and M’Benga turned back to him.

“The commander needs the nerve endings in his hands repaired as soon as possible to prevent permanent damage,” he explained as one of the other nurses began to push the stretcher and they all set off at a brisk pace towards the sick bay. “Once that’s done, we should be able to tend to his other wounds without causing him any more pain, but I’ll need you at his side until we’re certain.”

Jim nodded instantly. There wasn’t a force in the universe that would be able to make him willingly leave Spock’s side right now. 

Spock was edging toward unconsciousness now, Jim could feel. The feedback from his side of the bond was becoming weaker and more jumbled, the way sensations often blended together when a person was hovering between wakefulness and sleep. Still, he kept pouring as much love and gratitude and security over the bond as he could during the few minutes it took them to reach sickbay.

The doors slid open, and Jim stepped inside, hand still resting on Spock’s arm. The sickbay was busy with nurses, and he could see Sulu, Gomez, and Rowe each laying in a biobed. All three of them were awake and seemed alright, something Jim was immensely grateful for. 

“Take Mister Spock and the Captain to one of the private rooms, Nurse. I’m going to see if Doctor McCoy is available,” M’Benga said, and then the nurse was leading Jim and Spock through another door. 

At a gesture from the nurse, Jim lifted Spock onto the biobed, carefully laying his head against the pillow there and smoothing back his bangs. Even wounded and in pain, his husband was gorgeous. Then, he stepped off to the side, careful to keep his hand in contact with Spock’s hand as the nurse began to move around and hook Spock up to the various monitors. His husband flinched away from the touches, but he projected as much reassurance and security as he could over their bond, and Spock slowly relaxed.

A few minutes later, Bones stepped into the room followed by M’Benga. He and Jim locked eyes, and Jim knew that there would be a very long lecture in his near future, but first they would take care of Spock. 

“Alright, Jim. Repairing the nerve endings in Spock’s hands is gonna be difficult, and it’s probably going to hurt, because I don’t know how the painkillers would react with his system like this,” he explained, stepping over to a device on one side of the room. Together, he and the nurse rolled it over to the biobed and carefully lifted Spock’s arms so his hands were resting on top of it. “Keep doing your Vulcan mind mumbo-jumbo, and M’Benga will monitor Spock’s vitals.”

Jim nodded, and the team went to work. It was a long process, and before long Jim felt exhaustion pressing down on him, but he shrugged it off and redoubled his efforts to provide Spock with the comfort he needed every time he felt pain spark across their bond. Slowly, he felt the pain in Spock’s mind begin to ease, the overwhelming rush of sensation slow to a trickle, and he knew the worst was over.

A few minutes later, Bones looked up from his work and nodded to M’Benga, who stepped up to take his place. He and the nurse lowered Spock’s hands to the biobed once more and then set to work prepping him for the other procedures they would need to do.

“Alright, Jim. Spock’s gonna be okay. We need to make sure you’re still around for when he wakes up.” Bones’ voice brooked no argument, and at this point, Jim was honestly too exhausted to put up a fight. He squeezed Spock’s arm gently and then let go, allowing his friend to pull him out of the room.

. . .

When Spock woke, it was to the bright lights of sickbay, not the dim lighting that had pervaded the compound where he had been held for the past several days. The lighting, however, was not the only thing he noticed upon waking. He also became aware of a gentle warmth in his mind; the bond. It was open wide still, but instead of an overwhelming outpour of emotion and sensation, all he could feel coming from his husband was love, satisfaction, gratitude, and a sense of rightness that always seemed to come whenever they were both aboard the Enterprise. 

Spock pushed himself into a seated position and examined himself. He was dressed in one of the sickbay patient's gowns, and as he moved he could feel bandages wrapped around his torso as well as his lower arms. 

Slowly, he lifted his hands to inspect them. They were not bandaged as the rest of his wounds had been, but he could see very little lingering damage, and the few cuts that had not fully healed would do so within the next few days. He flexed his fingers slowly, and the movement was stiff as if his fingers needed to relearn the action. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on his hands and attempted to discern the extent of the damage that had been caused to his telepathy. 

Eventually, he reopened his eyes and set his hands back on the biobed. It was clear that the damage to his abilities was more extensive than the physical damage had been, and it was likely that it would take him an extended amount of time in meditation in order to reverse it. He was about to begin the process of entering a light meditation when he felt awareness from Jim's side of the bond. A moment later, the door slid open to reveal his husband.

There were deep circles under Jim's eyes, the sweatpants and shirt he wore were wrinkled, and his hair was disheveled as if he had been sleeping, but he appeared unharmed. A small smile pulled at Spock's lips unbidden, but he made no effort to stop it as his t'hy'la stepped into the room, his own smile doing more to brighten the space than the lighting.

"I'm glad you're awake, Spock," Jim said as he made his way over to the bed and took a seat in the chair next to him. Spock reached out instinctively and Jim copied the gesture, their fingers sliding together in a warm ozh'esta. It was immensely satisfying to be able to do so after days of reaching through the bars of a cell. "You've been out for...twenty-six hours and thirty-five minutes, I think, give or take a few. How are you feeling?"

Spock raised an eyebrow at his husband's word choice but said, "There is very little pain, and my motor functions appear to have been only slightly impaired."

"And your telepathy? It was on the fritz when we first beamed back onto the ship—you wouldn't let anyone but me touch you."

Spock bowed his head slightly. "I apologize. My telepathy has been...damaged, and it will take some time for me to restore my abilities. Until then, it is likely that your touch will be the only one that does not overload my shields in some way."

Jim nodded as if he had expected the response and leaned forward, shifting so that their hands were now interlocked and squeezing lightly. "I'm glad it isn't worse. Is there anything I can do in the meantime to help?"

"As it was on Alpha Syllor, your presence is stabilizing, but I would not keep you from your duties, ashayam."

Jim grinned sheepishly. "Well, after Bones had to hypo me because I refused to go to sleep without seeing you, he put me on medical leave for three days. The rest of the crew has the ship covered, and we're flying through friendly space right now. Barring any crazy space-stunts, there's not much that'll be able to keep me from your side."

Spock couldn't deny the love that welled in him at his husband's words, and he sent it across their bond, watching with satisfaction as a light pink flush came to Jim's cheeks. Then, Jim stood and leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on Spock's lips, eyes fluttering closed. 

"I've been wanting to do that for days," he admitted when he drew away, but before he could say anything else, Spock sat up further and reached out to pull his husband back down for another kiss, hands going to the man's messy hair. Jim laughed into the kiss but surrendered to it, and Spock allowed himself to simply bask in the feeling of his having t'hy'la in his arms before eventually pulling back and allowing Jim to breathe once more.

"As have I, Jim," Spock said quietly.

Jim's eyes sparkled, and their bond grew bright with the affection that sang along it. "Think you can scoot over?" Jim asked, eyeing the bed where Spock lay. "I don't want to make any of your wounds worse, though."

The biobed was not particularly large, but Spock found that the thought of his husband's body and warmth next to his far outweighed any discomfort that might come with the action. He moved to the side, and a moment later, Jim settled onto the bed on his side, one arm wrapped gently around Spock's waist, the other trapped between them. It was not a particularly comfortable position, but it was far better than the way they had been sleeping for the past several days.

At the thought of sleep, Spock became suddenly aware of the undercurrent of exhaustion that hummed along their bond. His own body was tired, he knew, but it seemed Jim shared his need for rest. 

"Are you comfortable enough to rest," he asked quietly as his husband shifted closer.

Jim chuckled. "Spock, I'm fairly certain I can fall asleep anywhere. Are you sure I'm not hurting you?"

There was some mild discomfort, but it was hardly enough to cause him to send Jim from his side. "You are not. Now rest. I doubt Doctor McCoy will be pleased when he finds you are not in your biobed."

Jim grinned and pulled Spock closer. "I love you, Spock."

"And I, you."

. . .

Jim woke to the sound of the door hissing open. He didn't want to move—Spock was still asleep—but he turned so that he could see the person who had walked in. To his surprise, it wasn't Bones or M'Benga but Sulu who stood in the doorway.

"I thought you might be here, Captain. I have an update on the hunt for the Klingon who orchestrated our capture, but I can wait if you're busy."

Next to him, Spock shifted, and Jim knew his husband was waking up. "It's alright, Sulu. Why don't you take a seat?" he suggested, gesturing to the chair next to the biobed. By this time, Spock was sitting up, and Jim moved so that he was sitting with his legs over the edge of the bed facing Sulu.

"What do you have, Lieutenant?"

"Lieutenant Uhura found us by tracking the signal that our captors—they've been identified as Ken Davis and the Orrel brothers—received from their Klingon contact. She's been trying to locate that signal again ever since we got back, and she received a hit a few hours ago from a ship a few clicks from here. Starfleet Command has been notified and sent transcripts of all the data we could find as well as my statement of what happened. They're sending the Excelsior to intercept. We're to remain in the area in case they require backup."

Jim nodded. As much as he wanted to hunt down the man responsible for this himself, his entire crew had had a rough few days, and they deserved a break. Plus, there was no way he was going to give Spock the chance to put himself in danger again so soon. "Thank you, Sulu. How's Phillips doing?"

Sulu's grim expression morphed into a smile. "She's up and walking, sir. Doctor McCoy said her system reacted differently to the phaser because she has some Andorian heritage, but she's fine now. She's on medical leave for the next three days, same as you."

"That's good to hear. Bones' kept me locked up for too long. How's everyone else?"

"All good, although Scotty's ready to get back to his engines," Sulu replied with a chuckle, and Jim smiled.

"I'm sure. Tell him to hold out for a few more days and I might even consider that last batch of upgrade suggestions he sent me." Jim could feel Spock raise an eyebrow behind him, but he could also feel his husband's amusement across the bond. 

"Will do, Captain." Sulu turned his gaze to Spock, and Jim saw the shadow of guilt that crossed the man's expression. "Commander, it's good to see you awake, sir. Thank you for what you did back there."

"Thanks are unnecessary, Lieutenant."

Sulu looked like he wanted to disagree, a sentiment Jim could understand, but instead he nodded to the both of them and stood. "By the way, Captain, I think Doctor McCoy is planning on releasing both of you today."

"That's good news. Let's just hope he doesn't try to give me a physical before he does. He knows I'm due for one soon."

Sulu laughed and shook his head before bidding them farewell and leaving the room.

Jim turned back to Spock and looped one arm around his waist. "We're transporting the men who captured us to the nearest starbase, by the way," he said, leaning his head on his husband's shoulder. "They'll face a tribunal for kidnapping and torturing Starfleet personnel, and they'll probably be sentenced to life in a prison colony somewhere. They won't be able to hurt anyone else."

Spock must have felt his lingering worry, for he placed a gentle kiss to Jim's brow before saying, "I will heal, Jim, and I do not regret my actions. Please cease your worrying."

Jim blinked back the love that rushed up in him. What had he ever done to deserve Spock? "I'll always worry about you," he replied with a sigh. "But for now, I'll just focus on helping you heal any way I can."

Before Spock could respond, the sickbay door opened once again, and this time Bones stepped through armed with a PADD in one hand and a bag of hypos in the other.

"Alright, you two. You've crowded my sickbay long enough, but I have a few more scans I need to run before I can release you, and once I do, you're on medical leave, which means if I catch wind of either of you on the bridge or down in the labs I'll hypo you to kingdom come," the doctor declared, and Jim felt the last of the tension in his shoulders bleed away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you comfort, so there it is! Also, the next chapter is going to be very domestic between the two of them, and I am excited to write it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock heals, and Jim helps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter than the others, but there was a scene I really wanted to write that just didn't fit in the last chapter, so here you go.

The lights of their quarters were dim when Jim stepped inside. He had spent the last day of his medical leave catching up on reports and talking about the day-to-day runnings of the Enterprise, activities which, technically, hadn't included being on the bridge or in the labs, and thus fulfilled the good doctor's definition of medical leave.

Now, he was tired, but in a satisfying kind of way, the kind that came after spending the day working with the ship and crew that he loved so much. He could barely make it down a hall without someone stopping him and telling him how glad they were that he and the others were back and recovering. It was wonderful.

"Have you completed your duties for the day, ashayam?" a voice asked from the bed. Spock was wrapped in a blanket and curled on his side of the bed, blinking up at him with tired eyes. His husband had been spending most of his day in meditation to help speed the process of healing his telepathic abilities, and the process had left him drained, meaning he slept more than usual.

Jim nodded, moving over to the closet and quickly changing into a light t-shirt and flannel pajamas. "I reviewed those upgrades like I promised Scotty I would," he said as he pulled his shirt over his head. "They weren't even that outrageous, compared to the last batch. I approved two experiments and an upgrade to the warp drive, but you can look them over if you want later. They aren't due to begin until we reach the starbase where we're dropping off Davis and his henchmen." He stepped to the 'fresher, leaving the door open so he could still talk to his husband as he began getting ready for the evening.

"If you believe them to be beneficial and safe, I trust your judgment," Spock answered, his voice still tired. "Mister Scott, despite his enthusiasm for innovation, would not intentionally endanger this ship or her crew."

"True," Jim laughed through the towel he was using to dry his face. "Scotty may be a mad scientist, but he's one of the good ones." Even without looking, Jim knew Spock's eyebrow had arched upward at his illogical phrasing. He grinned to himself and grabbed his toothbrush before making his way back into the bedroom.

"How's your meditation?" he asked around the toothbrush, perching on the edge of the bed and extending two of his unoccupied fingers to his husband. Spock brushed them in an ozh'esta, comfort and satisfaction jumping between them at the touch, before responding.

"The healing of my physical wounds in nearly complete, and I anticipate the damage to be fully reversed in another two days. My telepathic abilities are returning more slowly, however, and I am still sensitive to the emotional projections of others." There was a hint of shame in Spock's voice, and sent a wave of reassurance through their bond. Spock's lips twitched up a fraction and he continued, "If it is acceptable, I would prefer to spend the next week in the labs instead of at my station on the bridge. Lieutenant Cho is available to take my place. I will be better able to repair my shields when working in relative solitude."

Jim nodded and motioned for his husband to wait as he stood and quickly crossed the room back to the 'fresher and spit and rinsed before returning to Spock's side, moving under the covers and twining their legs together. "Of course, Spock. Whatever you need. We're going to be docked at the station for a few days anyway, so I don't anticipate us needing you on the bridge." Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim knew he was recalling the rather...unique situations the Enterprise had found itself in in the past. "Okay, fair enough, but it should be safe."

"Thank you."

"Aren't thanks illogical?" he teased softly before his face grew serious once again. "After all you've done for me and this crew, some time alone in the labs is the least I can give you. Is there anything else that would help limit the projections of the crew? Gloves maybe?"

Spock blinked. "I will already be wearing protective gloves while in the lab, but they do very little to dampen telepathic interference. Gloves of the kind you are describing do exist and are often used on Vulcan with the young and those who are recovering from an injury such as mine, however, I do not have a pair with me."

"Hmmm. Can you get a hold of the specs? I bet we can figure something out that would be similar at the very least, and if they don't work, well at least we tried."

"I will do so in the morning." Jim could hear the surprise in Spock's voice, and he smiled. One day, Spock would realize that he was worth the universe, but until then, Jim would keep trying to show him, even if it was through something as little as getting his husband a pair of gloves.

Silence fell between them, and Spock drew closer, wrapping one arm around Jim's waist while burying his head in his shoulder. Slowly, Spock's breathing began to even out, deeper and slower than a human's would be, and Jim ordered the lights to zero percent and smiled to himself in the darkness. For a few minutes, he allowed himself to simply lie there, feeling Spock's breaths puff against his neck and his arm pulling him close as their bond hummed with satisfaction and safety. Then, sleep began to overtake him, and he surrendered to it.

. . .

The sound of running water woke Jim the next morning. A quick glance at the chronometer beside his bed told him that it was fifteen minutes before his alarm to get ready for alpha shift was set to go off. Spock was in the 'fresher, the door open only enough for Jim to see that his husband was in his science blues, leaning over the sink. 

Reaching over, Jim turned off his alarm and stretched. The vertebrae in his spine popped and he shook his head, blinking a few times before he trusted himself to stand. Once he did, he ran a hand through his mess of hair—he had been doomed to have a case of bedhead every morning practically since his birth, although the problem had only gotten worse since he found out how much Spock enjoyed running his fingers through it—and made his way to the 'fresher, yawning as he went.

"'Morning, Spock," he greeted, placing a quick kiss on his husband's cheek before stepping through to the head. He was washing his hands a minute later when he noticed that his husband had his makeup out on the counter and seemed to be contemplating which brush to use. As he watched his husband's slender fingers, the faint lines crisscrossing them a testament to all Spock had endured, an idea sprang to mind.

Reaching over, he gently plucked the brush out of Spock's hand. "Let me?" he asked, willing to step back if his husband wanted him to but at the same time hoping Spock would let him do this small thing for him.

Spock blinked at him. "I have regained almost complete motor control in my hands," he stated, and although his face didn't change, Jim could read the confusion in his eyes. "There is no need for you to interrupt your routine to help me."

Jim could feel his heart melting into a puddle in his chest. "I know, Spock," he replied, reaching his unoccupied hand out to brush over Spock's knuckles. "But I want to, for the same reason you do my reports for me sometimes. I know you're more than capable of doing it on your own, but you don't have to; I want to help. Please?"

Spock nodded hesitantly, and Jim leaned in to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Then, he picked up the makeup palette that sat on the counter and set to work. It was a simple process—a few swipes of eyeshadow and some tinted chapstick—but Jim spent his time making sure everything was as Spock usually had it...and reveling in the feeling of his fingers drifting across Spock's face as his husband held still under his touch, gorgeous eyes lightly shut and lips barely parted. Gorgeous.

Eventually, he snapped the lid of the makeup palette closed and tapped his husband lightly on the shoulder. Spock's eyes fluttered open, and Jim couldn't help the sigh that escaped him. "You're beautiful, Spock, you know that? Beautiful."

The very tips of Spock's ears flushed green, but his expression remained otherwise unchanged. "You are aesthetically pleasing as well, ashayam," he said, then raised an eyebrow. "However, you will be late if you do not hurry. You are scheduled to meet with Doctor McCoy before your shift this morning so that he may approve you for duty on the bridge."

Jim cursed under his breath. "I forgot about that. How many tests does Bones have to run? I swear he didn't put Sulu through this when he got back..."

His husband simply shook his head and stepped past him. Jim watched him leave the room, a smile on his lips. Then, the door slid closed, and Jim got to work getting ready for the day. He wasn't about to give Bones another reason to keep him off duty any longer.

. . .

Spock was halfway through his shift down at the labs when the door slid open. He had been working in solitude in one of the smaller labs that was frequently used for storage and had not been expecting the intrusion. He looked up from his work to see an ensign wearing engineering colors standing in the door, holding a small package in his hands.

The nervousness the young man radiated was evident in both his posture and the residual emotions that Spock’s still-sensitive hands absorbed, and he had to resist the instinct to flinch away from the overpowering emotion. “Do you require something, Ensign?” he asked instead.

The man shook his head in the negative. “No, sir. I’m just delivering a package for you from engineering. Mister Scott said if there are any problems to let him know.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. He had not expected Mister Scott and his team to create a pair of gloves for him to wear so soon. “You may leave the package by the door, Ensign, and return to your post.” 

The young engineer set the package down on one of the lab tables next to him and then left the room, the door sliding closed behind him. Spock crossed the room and picked up the package after first removing the safety gloves he wore.

He opened the packaging with care and pulled out the gloves. They were made of a lightweight material, similar in texture to the kind used on Vulcan although not the same, and black in color. After another moment of examination, he pulled them on. Instantly, the emotions that bombarded his mental shields—even here in his isolation he could not completely escape the residual emotion that seemed to linger in everything that humans touched—dimmed, as if muffled. Mister Scott’s efforts, it seemed, had not been in vain.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on his shields in an attempt to further assess the extent of the protection the gloves offered him, and as he did so, he felt a sense of inquiry pulse across the bond. Jim must have felt some echo of his surprise.

In response, he allowed his affection, gratitude, and satisfaction to flow to his husband. The bond glowed brightly in his mind, and he could easily picture his t’hy’la’s blinding smile. Although he had not fully recovered from his injuries, he would in time, and with Jim’s support—another wave of love from the bond, as if his husband knew exactly what he was thinking—the process would be bearable. It was a small price to pay for the safety of his husband and crew. A small price indeed.   
  


. . .

Later that evening, as Spock felt Jim’s arms wrap around his waist from behind as he removed his makeup and got ready for bed, he was once again overwhelmed with emotion. This time, however, there was no pain. In its place was love, brilliant and blinding and utterly perfect. Jim pressed a kiss underneath his ear, and he melted into the touch. 

“I love you, Spock,” Jim whispered, and Spock turned his head to capture his t’hy’la’s lips with a kiss of his own.

“And I cherish thee, Jim.”

“You know, I think I’m finally beginning to understand that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da! Our boys have been through so much, but they're together now, and they're safe. 
> 
> My fic for the T'hy'la Big Bang comes out tomorrow (June 18th), so keep an eye out for that. It's a completed story and has some gorgeous art to go with it. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read/left me comments! I love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> I live for comments, I really do, so if you have a specific part you liked or didn't like or just want to yell at me for this mess, please do. You can also find me on Tumblr @herenya-writes. Thank you so much for reading!!


End file.
